Dolor Draconum
by Minerva Solo
Summary: Spoilers for OotP. HDr WIP. AU from now one, thanks to HPB, though I've finally got around to reading the book so feel free to discuss all you want. Not many chapters to go!
1. Prologue

**Dolor Draconum**

_A/N: Draco's life has been turned upside down by the arrest of his father, and he takes to spending long hours on his own until someone intrudes on his melancholy. Title is Latin, translating to "Pain of the Dragon" I think. _

_This is the edited version. Yes, it's still unfinished. It will be finished, one day. I do have a plan to which I'm working. It's just that writing something with thirty chapters of almost nothing dragging behind you gets a bit wearisome. So I've cut out some of the obsolete bits, the repetitive bits, the pointless bits and generally just tightened it all up, and I've even added some new bits that might be helpful for understanding later plot. Ought to be much nicer to read. Oh, and I've attacked those typos, you'll be glad to hear! _

_I suggest, if you've been here before, you go back and reread. There is in fact several pages more fic here, even though there are fewer chapters. Plus, there are some important plot points that arise considerably earlier. Just so you know. And if you find the odd 'Dolor Draconum' at the top of a page or 'previous' and 'next' at the bottom, please ignore. I've taken the pages straight from my website._

_Disclaimers: The Harry Potter series belongs to JK Rowling, and anyone she may have sold various rights to. Just be glad she put her foot down when they wanted to make Moaning Myrtle Toilet seats, okay? _

_Spoilers: PS (Philosopher's Stone, dammit. I hate it when publisher's are condescending, and besides, it's an actual alchemical artefact) through to OotP. _

_Pairing: Draco/Hermione. I like pairings with little to no canon evidence. Not because I think it would be teh hawt, but because it gives me a chance to write huge long trailing fics like this, with oodles of character development. I will wrap them around my little finger! Mwahahaha... what are you staring at? _

**Prologue**

The rumours started at opposite ends of the Hogwarts Express and met in the middle. Harry was sitting with Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom at one end, discussing the summer's events, while at the other end, in the prefect's carriage, Ron was whispering furiously to Hermione while both shot sideways glances as the subject of the gossip.

Draco was sprawled in a seat, oblivious to everything going on around him. His clothes did look a little more unkempt than usual, his bag appeared to be a little lighter, but the aristocratic arrogance still oozed from his every pore.

"It's true, I swear!" Ginny insisted. "I guess Narcissa couldn't bear being shamed by both her blood relatives and her husband."

"Are you sure it's legal?" Neville asked. "I mean, the guy's in prison. He can't exactly have a lawyer."

"She found some ancient law that allowed to her do it without his consent. Like those old adultery laws that meant a woman could be stoned to death if her husband cheated," Ginny said with authority. "'sides, my dad's in the ministry. This is all first hand, as far as it can be."

"It's not first hand if you're telling us, and presumably Mrs Malfoy didn't tell your dad herself," Harry pointed out.

"Ask Ron if you don't believe me! Malfoy's a prefect, isn't he? Maybe they'll have found out more!"

"You think he's just going to tell people?" Harry asked sceptically. "My mother divorced my dad while he was in prison and now lives in the house previously used by the OotP?"

"Ootpee?" Neville asked, mystified.

"Order of the phoenix," Ginny hissed.

"Oh, yeah, right. I think Harry's right, Malfoy won't say anything, not unless he's benefiting from this. He's moving from a huge mansion to a house in London, I doubt he'll want to boast about that."

"No, that's just it," Ron said breathlessly from the door as he and Hermione joined them. "He's not living there! Dad made some excuse with some other Ootpers to go and check we'd left nothing behind, and Draco doesn't live there! He's still back at his father's mansion, on his own!"

"He didn't say a word during the meeting, not even a snide remark directed at Ron and I," Hermione said, a little concerned. "I suppose he's got servants looking after him."

"Loads, I'll bet," Ron enthused. "I must be so great having a huge mansion all to himself for most of the summer. He could hold loads of parties and no one would tell him not to. He could eat what he liked. He could do what he lik-"

"Stop being so insensitive," Hermione snapped abruptly. "Divorce is a terrible thing to put a child through, and consider what he must be going through with his father in prison as it is! I hope he stayed at a friend's house."

"What do you care?" Ron asked. "It's _Malfoy_. We want him to suffer. Personally, I hope both of his parents forget him and leave him to die on the streets."

"Ron!"

"Well, I do. He'd deserve it."

"It's not a matter of what he deserves. We'd be just as bad as him if we took pleasure in his pain."

Ron squirmed. "When you put it that way…" he murmured.

"Exactly," Hermione said triumphantly, with an air of finality that told the carriage's occupants that the matter was closed.

They discussed mundane miscellany for the rest of the journey, carefully avoiding subjects like Lord Voldemort, their OWL results and the fact that Mrs Malfoy was living in what they all still thought of as Sirius's house.

As the journey was drawing to an end Seamus stuck his head around their door. "Guess what I heard?" he grinned excitedly.

"Thank you, our summers were fine, and yours?" Ron grinned.

"Malfoy tried to kill himself over the summer!"

Unsurprisingly, a stunned silence followed this statement. Ron almost said something along the lines of 'I wish he'd finished the job', but the dirty look Hermione gave him made him think better of it.

"How?" Neville asked eventually.

"Tried to hang himself, I think. I figured you might not have heard, being all the way down this end of the carriage. You suppose it's got something to do with the arrest and divorce?"

"No, I was just bored," a long drawling voice made everyone jump.

"What are you doing here?" Ginny spluttered.

"It's a free country, I can wander up and down the train if I like," Draco said without much feeling. Looking at him the friends could almost believe he had attempted suicide. There were dark rings under his eyes and his skin was almost as sallow as Snape's. His words lacked their usual malice and his sneer had lost its snide twist.

"Is it true?" Ron demanded. "Did you try and hang yourself?"

"I don't see what business of yours that is," Draco snarled, his mood abruptly swinging. "The next person who says a word on the subject is going to be in detention for an entire month!"

"You can't do that!" Hermione protested. "People shouldn't be talking about you like that, but-"

"I don't need you jumping to my defence, little miss perfect!" Draco practically shouted. "I don't need anyone! I can do what I like. I didn't even have to come back, if I didn't want to."

"We're so glad you graced us with your presence," another hated voice intoned, making even Draco jump. "Are these, and I use the word loosely, 'students', bothering you?"

"N, no…" Draco stuttered.

Snape frowned. "Are you sure? I heard shouting."

"I… no, they're not bothering me. I was just checking whether everyone was ready to arrive. As you can see, they're not."

"I would dock ten points from each of you," Snape warned, "but until we arrive I can't do that, as term hasn't officially begun." The bitterness in his voice made it evident what he thought of that. _If he had his way_, Harry thought wearily, _he'd probably like to give detentions and dock house points all year round, turning up at people's houses n the middle of summer. _"If you aren't smartly attired on reaching the Great Hall, I warn you, you will all be in detention for a week. Thank you, Draco," he swept away down the corridor.

"Why didn't you tell him we were bothering you?" Ron asked, confused.

"I can deal with things on my own," Draco snapped, but his earlier conviction seemed to be lacking. "I don't need anyone else." He wandered away, head down.

"Do you suppose he's fallen out with Crabbe and Goyle?" Neville asked hopefully. "Their fathers' also got arrested, didn't they? Perhaps they blame him, perhaps that's why they weren't here just now."

"Maybe," Ginny said. "I mean, that's not unlikely. I did wonder where they were, and it would explain the vehement independence."

"So would being left alone in a large mansion for five weeks," Hermione murmured under her breath, but she too wondered where Draco's minions were lurking.

previous 

next


	2. Chapter the First

**Chapter the First **

The first week was hectic, as always. Snape almost managed to put them into detention, but Professor McGonagall breezed past and made it very clear that she could see nothing wrong with the state of their uniforms. The first formers were sorted, more than usual ending up in Slytherin, much to the other houses' trepidation. The timetables were given out and much discussion was given to the subject of who the new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher would be, especially when Dumbledore made no mention of it at the Feast.

"You don't think…" Ron began nervously, as if merely saying it would make it true, "you don't think it's Snape, do you?"

"I doubt it," Hermione said reassuringly. "Dumbledore would almost certainly have said, and besides, with Potions and being head of Slytherin and his work in the Ootpea, where would he find the time?"

Harry sniggered. "Ootpea. Sounds so... weird. Like nothing else in particular."

"Are you going to restart the DA?" Ron asked.

"Only if the new teacher is as bad as the previous one."

"So if it's Filch, then?" Ron grinned. Harry laughed, but Hermione gave a horrified gasp. "What now?" Ron asked grumpily. "You're not standing up fo-"

"They've put us with Slytherin!" she wailed. "It's in the footnotes. All classes are now going to be mixed between houses, to promote 'sportsmanship', and since we've got even less subjects," Hermione had been very put out at having to drop some of her subjects, "it's to save teaching time."

"How do you know we're with Slytherin?" Ron asked imploringly. "Are you sure it's them?"

"Quite sure," Hermione showed them her timetable. Defence Against the Dark Arts was red and green, showing it was Gryffindor and Slytherin.

All three were doing Potions again, as Ron and Harry still wanted to be Aurors and Hermione had no intention of dropping any subject she didn't have to. Harry and Ron had dropped Divination, despite their curiosity as to what it would be like being taught by both Professor Trelawney and Firenze. Harry had failed History of Magic, and Ron had decided to drop it as well. Hermione, after much persuasion, had dropped as well, leaving her just enough space on her timetable for all of her subjects provided she didn't eat or sleep. After further deliberation, she also dropped Muggle Studies.

Hermione gave another wail. "I'm doing Arithmancy with Slytherin too! They're in all my favourite classes!"

Ron glanced at Hermione's timetable. "Blimey," he murmured, "They're in all of them!"

"Loads of people dropped Herbology, so all four houses are together," Hermione sighed. "Same with most of the subjects we've been doing since we arrived. I can't believe some people are only doing five NEWTs!"

"Most people only do three or four," Harry pointed out. "We have to do five if we want to be Aurors, but most jobs really don't require that many."

Hermione looked horrified. "But… but they'll have so much free time! What are they going to do with it all?"

"Oh god," Ron moaned. "What are _we_ going to do, with almost no free time? All the teachers will set loads of homework, thinking everyone's got time to do it, and we've got less time and more subjects to get homework from! It's not fair!"

"You'll just have to do some actual work then," Hermione said firmly. "You can use those homework diaries I got you last Christmas. I'll get you both new ones this year."

"Please don't…" Ron sighed.

* * *

Their first Defence Against the Dark Arts was that afternoon, and the students arrived in fits and starts, trickling in from other lessons, still getting used to the new timetable. There was no teacher when they arrive, but written on the blackboard was 'if you know your enemy and know yourself you need not fear the result of a thousand battles'.

"Yeah," Ron said, "it's the thousandth and first that gets you."

Hermione ran in late, skidding to an abrupt stop when she saw the teacher wasn't there. She sat down next to Harry, panting slightly.

"Arithmancy overran… such a…. good lesson… damn sly…therins…" she gasped.

"What happened?" Ron asked. Hermione just shook her head, still trying to catch her breath.

"Have you seen… her?" she asked.

"Her? Who?" Ron looked blank.

"I think Ms Granger is talking about me," a voice at the back called out. It was slightly hesitant, and rather breathless. "My name," she said softly, "is Professor Kelp. I beg you, don't call me that. Please. Call me Aurora. I am an empath."

There was a mixed reaction to this statement. Some, like Hermione, seemed overjoyed, others, like Crabbe and Goyle, looked terrified, and Harry wasn't alone in looking blank.

"I can read emotions. This means I'll know when you're lying about your homework, passing notes, winding each other up and generally being bad students. I do not tolerate bad students. I know that there is a lot of bad blood between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and should any of that manifest itself in this room I will immediately deduct ten points from the culprit, whether they voice their feelings or not." She sighed, and went on with a note of pleading, "Look, I know that's not fair, and I can tell you know that too, but unless you want me to go insane before the end of the term, that's how it has to be." She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes for a moment. When she reopened them, her voice was firm again. "Right. I will call the register, and you will be grateful I don't make you wear name labels. I will get your names wrong, frequently so, but don't be offended. I called Professor Snape 'Minerva' yesterday." The class laughed. "Right…" and she was off.

The students didn't have to listen while she was calling the register, except Crabbe and Goyle who still needed to pay full attention to recognise their own names, so there was a chance for Hermione, Ron and Harry to study their new teacher.

"Hermione Granger."

"Here."

Aurora? What kind of name was that for a witch? It sounded like something teenagers would dub themselves as they lit candles and tried to summon hot guys from ages past. It was only one up from 'Nightsilva' or similar. She was young, probably in her mid-twenties. Her hair was tied back into a scatty bun and she was constantly pushing her glasses back up her nose. Her nails were stubby from chewing and covered in chipped green nail polish.

"Harry Potter."

"Yes."

Her clothes brought a few hushed snickers from the class. She was wearing the kind of dress you find in Muggle party shops, with a laced bodice, puffed sleeves and a great deal of embroidery. There were tiny bells sewn to the hem. It didn't fit particularly well, going in and out where she went out and in. And, to top it off, a huge black velvet cloak that trailed on the floor. The bottom was slightly frayed, and there was a footprint at around knee height, which was odd because she wasn't wearing shoes.

"Draco Malfoy."

Even her jewellery was outlandish, huge hoops and whirls of silver, cover in green and blue glass beads, that kept getting tangled in her hair. If she was in normal clothes she might have looked alright, but she did look like she was going to a costume party. Hermione hoped for her sake that she'd brought something else to wear with her.

"Ronald Weasley."

"Present."

Hermione bit her lip. Why wasn't 'Aurora Kelp' on the timetable? Why hadn't she been present at the staff table yet? Was she going to be a good teacher? She didn't have the instant authority that McGonagall had, and she had already admitted that the class could cause her problems merely by feeling bad. She looked too young to know enough to help them learn to defend themselves against Voldemort.

"Has anyone seen Draco Malfoy?"

Ron's eyes widened. She didn't have a wand. They were supposed to learn Defence Against the Dark Arts from a girl, not even a woman, without a wand?

"He was in Arithmancy," Hermione piped up as the class's attention finally returned to the lesson at hand. "He didn't look too well though."

Professor Aurora sighed. "Wonderful. What an impression to make on my first day. I suppose you've all already gathered your first impressions and judged me appropriately?"

No one knew quite what to say to this.

"Where's your wand?" Seamus asked.

"I didn't bring it. For the first few weeks, no one will need his or her wand. Have you all read the statement on the board?"

Harry's eyes widened. Not another Umbridge, surely?

"I applied for this job having only found out a few weeks earlier that I even had any magical talent. As far as I'm concerned, you all ought to be very glad I don't have my wand, since you might struggle to survive the lesson. I'm learning as much here as you are."

"How are you supposed to teach us if you can't do any magic yourself?" Hermione asked tersely.

"We will start with some psychology. I've been gathering fact, not rumours mind you, _facts_ about Lord Voldemo- don't wince! – Lord Voldemort, and we are going to learn about him and his past. He won't expect you to know."

Babbling erupted as the class began to talk excitedly amongst themselves.

"He was born Tom Marvolo Riddle, and later rearranged the letters of his name to form his better known pseudonym, Lord Voldemort. Look, if you're all going to flinch each time I say that you may as well not bother turn up. It's a name."

"Names have power," Neville murmured.

"It's not his real name," Professor Aurora pointed out. "You'd do better to fear the name Tom than Voldemort."

The class was interrupted by the arrival of Draco Malfoy. Professor Aurora marked him on the register, but didn't comment.

"Why isn't she punishing him?" Harry hissed to Ron and Hermione. "If the class think they can get away with turning up that late…"

"Something to share, Mr Potter?"

"N-no, Professor K- Aurora."

"Good. You've met both Lord Voldemort and Tom Marvolo Riddle, haven't you? Perhaps you could tell us what impression you got of the boy and the man?"

In a halting voice, Harry began to describe his encounters with the Dark Lord, from Professor Quirrel to Sirius's death in the Ministry of Magic. He was about to mention that Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy's parents had been death eaters, but Professor Aurora held up a hand to stop him.

"Thank you, Harry. That's plenty of material to be going on with. Professor Dumbledore has also agreed to talk a little about Lord Voldemort, when he has time, so I expect promptness and good manners in every lesson, as you won't know when he decides to pop in." Aurora smiled wickedly. "No homework this week. See you all soon." 


	3. Chapter the Second

**Chapter the Second **

Potions.

Harry wondered whether Snape had kept him on out of sheer malicious pleasure. Neither he nor Ron had achieved the outstanding grades he claimed to require to take them on for NEWTs. Eventually, Hermione explained the McGonagall had spoken up for them and mentioned that Umbridge had declared neither would get in. Despite her absence from the school, her memory still carried weight. The swamp, still nestled in the corner of one of the corridors, leant weight to that memory. A small notice had appeared beside, reading 'this swamp brought to you by The Brothers Weasley. Come to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley to meet the makers in person, and sample our various products.' Harry suspected Ginny had put it up as a favour to the twins. Ron was disgruntled by the fact 'The Brothers Weasley' apparently consisted of only two members, as opposed to the six it ought to have. The Sister Weasley merely thought it was a good name.

Snape was waiting at the front of the dungeon as they filed in. Harry noted with interest that Crabbe and Goyle sat away from Draco, in fact, Draco was left entirely on his own. Apparently they hadn't forgiven him for their fathers' arrests. Despite the lack of Dementors, Lucius Malfoy and his friends were finding it a little harder than anticipated to break out of Azkaban. Two attempts had already been reported in the Prophet, and Luna Lovegood claimed they'd hushed up at least seventeen more, though one of those was supposed to have been aided by invisible Hippogriffs, so the tally was probably a little less.

"Welcome back," Snape began. "Many of you don't deserve to be here, and if I had my way you wouldn't be." He gave a few Gryffindors, now much depleted in numbers, a cold stare. "Still, we must make the best of what meagre talent is accumulated amongst the few brains you share between you," a pointed look at Hermione, "and being another year. I hope you all did your summer reading, as we are going to begin with a duplicating potion. Pairs, please."

Hermione stared around desperately, but Ron and Harry were already setting up, and everyone else in Gryffindor (all two of them) had paired up. On the other side of the room, Draco didn't even bother raise his head. It seemed that it wasn't just Crabbe and Goyle shutting him out. Hermione wondered what he had down to deserve this sudden enmity.

"Okay, fine. Granger, go and work with Malfoy," Snape snarled, clearly annoyed that his favourite was being forced to work with one of his least liked pupils.

They worked in silence for a bit, following the instructions that had appeared on the board in front of them. A soft murmur of noise filled the dungeon as pupils chatted about the first few lessons, and about the potion whenever Snape came within hearing.

Abruptly, Malfoy broke the silence that had settled between himself and Hermione. "Why on earth did they hire that Muggle as a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher? Dumbledore's lost it this time."

Hermione's mouth opened. "I, um, yes. I agree," she stammered, shocked at herself. "I mean, not about Dumbledore, he probably had very good reasons, but I can't work out what they are."

"He's cracked, that's the reason," Malfoy said bluntly. "I'd rather have that Ministry woman back. She couldn't teach magic, but at least she knew what it was."

"I'll bet you want _her_ back," Hermione muttered. "She made it so easy on you."

Malfoy gave her a withering look. "I would have failed Dark Arts if it wasn't for my father," he said scathingly. "As an administrator I think she did a lot for this school, but as a teacher the only thing worse they could have done was bring in a mudblood or a squib. Oh, wait, they did."

"She's an empath. There's a rumour that she's teaching occlumency and leglimency."

"So why not have Professor Snape do it? At least he's a wizard. That girl is actually taking lesson here! She's a student, like the rest of us."

"Harry made a pretty good Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher last year, and he's still a student," Hermione pointed out candidly.

"Illegal teacher," Malfoy sneered, but he didn't object to Hermione's claim. A lot of students had failed on the practical portion of the exam, but all of those Harry had taught had passed with flying colours.

The potion stared to change colours, flickering between red, white and blue in a very patriotic manner. Malfoy dropped some shredded pig's liver in and it slowed, colours changing more gradually, until it began to separate into layer.

"Stir it," Snape told them brusquely. Hermione did so and it turned a delicate violet.

"Sir, why didn't you get the Defence Against the Dark Arts job?" Malfoy asked ingratiatingly. "You know everything this girl is teaching, and I bet you'd teach it a lot better."

"She volunteered," Snape said shortly, and walked away before Malfoy could ask any more questions.

"Do you suppose that means she's not being paid?" Hermione asked slowly.

Malfoy gave her a surprised look. "Well, I suppose her wages and the school fees would cancel each other out to a certain extent."

"School fees?" Hermione looked confused.

"If you're over eighteen you have to pay for full-time education," Malfoy explained.

"Oh, yes. It's the same in the Muggle world," Hermione said, a little embarrassed at not having realised that.

They lapsed back into silence, but it was more comfortable this time.

The lesson drew to a close and Hermione began to ladle the potion into a flask with relief. Malfoy had been shooting glances at her for the past five minutes and it was beginning to get on her nerves. She had discretely checked her reflection in the potion, but there was nothing obviously wrong with her.

"Are you-" Draco began suddenly, but he was interrupted by Snape calling, "Time's up," and he fell silent again.

Snape strode around the classroom, looking in each cauldron and studying each bottle of potion. Eventually, he selected Ron and Harry's, beckoning Hermione forwards to act as guinea pig. Swallowing nervously, eyeing the bottle bright green liquid with trepidation, she took a deep swallow.

Hermione's eyes widened. Her body began to split in two, separating up the middle like an amoeba. Her clothes started to rip.

Suddenly, there were two Hermiones, both flushing scarlet and clinging to the shreds of their uniform. The class burst out laughing.

"Potter, Weasley, do you know what you did wrong?" Snape asked, ignoring Hermione's predicament. One Hermione had ducked under a desk; the other was using textbooks to keep herself covered. "You didn't add a hair. The duplicating potion has many similar properties to the Polyjuice potion, when mixed properly, but has the advantage of being much quicker to prepare and the disadvantage of only producing a surface glamour. The person should still have their own voice and body shape underneath the outside mirage, and it takes a powerful wizard to conjure clothes onto the glamour. You two, however have created a Facsimile Potion, so now we have two Grangers. Does anyone know the antidote?"

The Hermione under the desk was fuming. If the potion had gone right, she would be wearing Harry or Ron's naked body, but it had gone wrong, as Snape had undoubtedly known it would, and she was stuck with wearing almost nothing, twice over. The Hermione dressed in books answered Snape's question.

"You will raise your hand when you speak to me," he said, malevolent humour glinting in his eyes.

Hermione stared at him, horrified. She made a brief attempt at holding the books with one hand, but after almost dropping them she gave up.

"Anyone else?" Snape looked around.

Most of the class had ceased to pay the slightest bit of attention. Most of the boys were staring open mouthed at the Hermiones, cheeks flushed and pupils dilated. The girls were giving her dirty looks, and Pansy Parkinson said in a stage whisper "the ugly little tart's enjoying the attention." Harry and Ron were staring at the desk, but the Hermione under the desk caught Ron sneaking the occasional glance. If she remembered all this (she wasn't sure she would, with having two separate memories of exactly the same period of time), she was going to keep a close eye on him from now on.

Malfoy went to raise his hand, but found it hexed to the desk. He turned to glower at Crabbe and Goyle, noticing the Crabbe was still holding the wand. He turned back with a shrug and simply raised the other hand.

"Essence of bindweed, Sir," he said simply. Both Hermiones gave him a grateful, albeit surprised, look.

"Well done, Malfoy. Ten points to Slytherin. Unfortunately, I don't have any." He turned around to look over Hermione-with-the-books's shoulder. She realised with guilty satisfaction that if he actually looked at her she could get him kicked out for harassment. She almost let the books slipped, but thought better of it. Pansy's jibe had struck deep. "Hermione, both of you, please go to Madam Pomfrey and ask if she has any. And go and put some clothes on while you're at it."

Hermione-under-the-table's eyes widened. "You don't expect me to walk half way across the school like this?" she asked aghast.

"Malfoy can escort you," Snape sneered. "Protect you from 'admirers'."

Draco stood up. "Do I have to come back and clear up the equipment?" he asked, shooting pointed looks at Ron and Harry.

"Potter, Weasley, clear up Malfoy's equipment for him. Granger, ten points each from Gryffindor for being unsuitably attired."

Malfoy walked over to Hermione-under-the-table and handed her his cloak without talking. She wrapped it gratefully around herself, standing up carefully. He reached over carelessly and snatched Ron's cloak to cover Hermione-with-the-books. Ron didn't object, not even when it knocked over the essence of newt tail and stained it.

Hermione was pleasantly surprised by Malfoy's behaviour. He didn't gawk at her, he didn't make any suggestive comments or insult her, and he didn't try and 'hurt' her. He walked in front so he wouldn't see if the cloaks slipped. He had been brought up to be a Gentleman in every aspect of the word, bigoted and arrogant and rude, he knew which knife to use, which servants to call by their surnames and which by their first, and he knew better than to take advantage of a lady in distress, or even undress. Even if the lady was a common mudblood.

The fact was, Hermione's modesty had struck a chord within him. He hadn't stared like the other boys, but he hadn't acted as though she had anything to be ashamed of. In his opinion, she didn't, no matter what bitchy comments Pansy Parkinson might make. Now that Hermione had sorted out her teeth and found a shampoo that kept her hair a little tamer, she was more than pleasant to look at, something that hadn't escaped Ron Weasley's notice either.

Madam Pomfrey was horrified when she saw the Hermiones and ushered them away. Malfoy stuck his hands in his pockets and waited. From behind a curtain strange squeaks and squeals issued as the two Hermiones become one again. Eventually she reappeared, dressed in a spare uniform two sizes too big for her.

"That looks like it ought to belong to Millicent Bulstrode," Malfoy observed.

"It did," Hermione said darkly.

"Come on, we have the Dark Arts next," Malfoy said brusquely. "I brought your bag."

"Thank you," Hermione accepted it. "Do you think I have time to go and change? These are really uncomfortable, and smell… odd."

Malfoy smirked. "Miss Granger willing to skip lessons to work on her appearance? I don't think Madam Pomfrey put you back together right."

"If the last lesson was any indication, we could be twenty minutes late and still beat her there," Hermione said scathingly. "If I wanted to study psychology I'd be in a Muggle sixth form college, studying _psychology_, funnily enough."

She led the way to the Gryffindor dormitory. "You'll have to stay out here," she told Malfoy. "In fact, you really ought to be a bit further down the corridor so you don't hear the password."

Malfoy backed away a short distance, and Hermione failed to see his smirk as she whispered the password to the fat lady.

When Hermione returned from the girl's dormitories she was treated to the sight of Malfoy lounging bonelessly in a chair in front of the fire, one leg over the left arm, one arm over the back. With a frown like thunder she stalked up to him and stood with her hands on her hips between him and the fire.

"What are you doing in here?" she demanded. "I told you to wait outside!"

Malfoy shrugged. "I like your common room," he said, looking around with interest. "Cosy. Lacks the gothic elegance of the Slytherin common room, as Pothead and the Weasel no doubt told you when they were masquerading as Crabbe and Goyle. Still, it has its rustic charm."

"Get out," Hermione growled. "Get out of here you bigoted, arrogant, charmless, vile _crook_."

That last word bit deep, and Malfoy's face went a whiter shade of pale, lips thinning as he pressed them firmly together in an attempt to keep from shouting something that could embarrass himself. Hermione noted this triumphantly.

"Come on," he said tightly. "We have to go to Dark Arts. What if today is the day Professor Dumbledore attends?"

"After you," Hermione said with mocking derision.

Only later did it occur to wonder what he had been intending to ask in Potions, and wish she'd asked him before she blew up at him for following her into the common room. After all, Ron and Harry had sneaked into the Slytherin common room in their second year. That memory brought forth another one: Draco Malfoy praying that the Basilisk (though he hadn't known it was such) would eat her first. Then all the righteous anger flooded back, and she found herself hoping his father did escape, and he helped him, and Aurors would be forced to kill them both.


	4. Chapter the Third

**Chapter the Third **

Fortunately, Dumbledore didn't attend their Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. Unfortunately, the news of Hermione's cloning and subsequent lack of clothes meant their prolonged absence was a subject of much discussion. Walking down a corridor towards a noisy class but stepping into a perfectly silent classroom was a particularly unnerving experience.

Hermione promptly took her seat with Ron and Harry, both of whom shot her questioning looks. Draco moved to sit down next to a Slytherin Hermione couldn't remember the name of, but the boy in question covered the seat with his bag. Suddenly, every person sitting alone managed to take up the seat next to them, with books and bags and cloaks and even feet. It was slightly absurd, but the message was clear.

Professor Kelp still had her back to the class, but she'd stopped writing on the board as soon as Hermione and Draco entered. Her back was rigid, and Hermione sighed. She'd never met a teacher so controlled by her class. And yet she didn't say a word to the hostile Slytherins when she turned around and found Malfoy still standing in the middle of the room, looking slightly lost. At least she wasn't wearing the ridiculous cloak this time, though the dress was basically unchanged except in colour.

"Sit, Malfoy," Professor Aurora called. "Anywhere, I don't care. There, there's a seat next to Longbottom." Neville flinched. With a heavy sigh he moved his bag so Malfoy could sit down. "Both of you will see me after the lesson to discuss your lateness and find out what you need to catch up." She raised a hand to stall Hermione's objection. "I know precisely why you were late, but you still need the work."

The rest of the lesson passed slowly. Hermione felt it dragging, but she felt infinitely more sorry for Neville, for whom it must have felt like eternity. He did himself proud though, his fear of Malfoy much depleted by the previous terms 'adventures'. Malfoy didn't bother provoke him, staring into space for most of the lesson and only occasionally taking notes. When Neville saw what Malfoy was writing his eyes widened.

"Say a word and I'll break your jaw so you can never snitch again," Malfoy murmured, his tone of voice alarmingly reminiscent of the speaking clock, bored and emotionless. Neville paled and turned abruptly back to his own notes, smudged and full of spelling mistakes. Professor Aurora's eyes flicked between the two of them as she read, but as usual, she did nothing.

Despite her pity for Neville, the lesson still passed achingly slow for Hermione. Ron nudged and teased her about Draco until Professor Aurora took ten points from their house for Hermione's anger. This delighted the Slytherins, who took it to mean that if they provoked the Gryffindors enough it would be them who were punished, not the Slytherins. Professor Aurora was suddenly as unpopular as Snape amongst the Gryffindors, and the rumour spread.

At the end of the lesson Professor Aurora called Malfoy and Hermione to sit in front of her desk. Malfoy stared vaguely out the window while Hermione did her best attentive-teacher-pleasing look. Professor Aurora responded to neither. _She looks more nervous than either of us students_, Hermione thought darkly.

"I won't ask what happened to anger Granger so much before you came, and create this sense of lingering guilt in Malfoy, but you can be sure I'll keep an eye on both of you from now on," Professor Aurora began, looking sharply at Malfoy. It actually got his attention, which no other part of the lesson had, and he looked furious. Hermione was staying at him, open-mouthed. Guilt?

"Precisely what are you implying?" he asked coldly. "Do you honestly think I would dream of interfering with such a precocious little mudblood?"

"Ten points from Slytherin," Professor Aurora replied, equally coldly, "for prejudice."

"You can't keep punishing people for feeling," Hermione objected, her pride still stinging for earlier in the lesson.

"Operant conditioning. I explained at the beginning of the lesson, but neither of you were present." Aurora raised an eyebrow. "Students made notes from a psychology textbook I brought with me, which is now in the Muggle section of the library. Before next lesson I want you both to make notes from that book on all forms of conditioning, using my teaching methods as an example when required, and on Privation and Deprivation."

"How long?" Hermione asked, already measuring parchment and allocating time in her mind.

"Up to you. Long enough to learn from. I will be checking you have both done it."

Hermione looked scandalised.

"It's not in our NEWTs," Malfoy said sulkily. "You haven't taught us anything that will actually be in our NEWTs yet, or of any use whatsoever in the real world."

"I felt, and Dumbledore agreed with me, that it would be of use to understand other people's motivations. Don't worry, we'll have finished this part of the course in a few weeks. I will move on to some of your curriculum topics until Christmas, and then we'll focus on Leglimency and Occlumency. You'll be pushed for time, but you're a bright class, on the whole."

Hermione fought her contempt, but Malfoy didn't. As a general rule, teachers who felt they had to explain themselves to students weren't confident in what they were doing. If she was holding out for universal popularity, she'd be waiting a long time. _Really_, Hermione told herself, _it's the worst possible job for her, with her 'talent'. _

Professor Aurora went on, "When you know how Voldemort operates, how he lures people in, you will know what to look out for. 'If know your enemy and know yourself you need not fear the result of a thousand battles'."

"Malfoy already knows," Hermione muttered, "his father's in prison for being a Death Eater."

"Are you fishing for a detention, Miss Granger?"

"No, Professor Aurora."

"Good. You are both dismissed."

Professor Aurora wasn't the only one asking questions about why Hermione had been in such a bad mood after getting changed. When Pavarti Patil came up and asked if it was true, had Malfoy really tried something, Hermione began to wonder whether she had overreacted. She had asked him to stay in the corridor and he had deliberately ignored that, but when people were wondering if he'd tried to rape her…

The climax came when she overheard Dean Thomas comment to Seamus, "I bet Hermione's blowing it out of proportion. I mean, if he looked, you could hardly blame him, could you? I hadn't realised how, how she'd 'grown'. Not because she wasn't always okay looking, it's just I still think of her as eleven, you know? Like I still think of you as short, but you're taller than me these days. And, well, if Malfoy, you know, 'touched', well, we all hate him anyway, don't we?"

"Draco Malfoy didn't touch me!" Hermione shrieked. The common room fell silent. "I was… I was angry about something else."

"What?" asked Ron, who'd been horrified when he heard the rumour and had been regretting his teasing so much he couldn't look at Hermione.

"I'm not going to tell you," Hermione snapped, aware of how lame it sounded. "Draco Malfoy is going through a bad time, and all you can do is spread rumours about him! And me! If he'd so much as looked he wouldn't have been able to reach Defence Against the Dark Arts, he'd be too busy being a slug!" Hermione stormed out of the portrait hole, pausing only briefly to grab her bag.

"She has a point," Ginny chuckled. "Honestly, you really think Hermione would have just left off with being angry?" An uneasy laugh echoed around the room.

"Do you think we should follow her?" Ron asked Harry. "I mean, I kinda owe her an apology." 

"Let's leave her alone to cool down," Harry suggested. "You know she'll be in the library, we can go and find her later."

He was right, too, Hermione had gone to the library. She wandered around, looking for the Muggle section, determined to do something constructive with her time. She decided against going to ask for help finding it, she had plenty of time. She was also a little embarrassed that after spending so much time in the library she hadn't known there was a Muggle section.

Eventually she stumbled across it, dusty and forgotten, tucked away against a wall. It was distinctly uninviting, and Hermione hovered for a moment to check she'd found the right section. It was L shaped, so that she couldn't see around the corner, hooked around a small room that Hermione later recognised as one of the bathrooms on the fifth floor. To her dismay, books had been piled onto the shelves any which way, as and when they arrived in the library. Ideally, this would mean the textbook she wanted was right near the entrance, but no such luck.

In her frustration Hermione began to sort the books, finding them to be two rows deep in some places while other shelves were conspicuously empty. Books on medicine and Muggle history were put to one side, old stories books and plays to another. Slowly, she made order of the chaos. It had been a while since she'd been forced to recall the Dewey decimal system, but lo and behold, the last book she picked up to slot away contained a complete account of it. She looked at the cover for a moment, choosing amusement over frustration with a bit of effort. And just to check she was right, because if she wasn't she'd have to do all this again and then she'd never get around to the homework, she skimmed through the slim volume. It was ancient, she realised. Untouched for years. And besides, only the muggleborn children would recognise the system. _Well_, she thought, _they obviously won't, but they're the only ones who might. _

The dust was terrible and blew out in a neat cloud as she closed the book. She sneezed. There was a deafening absence of sound.

Hermione frowned at the closed book. In this corner of the library she shouldn't have been able to hear anything anyway, so this awareness made her wonder what she had been listening to. As she put the book back onto the shelf her stomach knotted. Had someone been watching her? What would they think of someone who reorganised library shelves for no apparent reason?

_No_, she reasoned, t_he sound definitely stopped. Which means that whoever or whatever was making it didn't know I was here. _

When it began again she stood stock still and listened. The first thing that came to mind was someone chewing with their mouth open, which made Hermione frown. If one wanted to eat in the library, this would be a good corner for it, but really, what cretin would eat here? The sound of saliva was occasionally broken by choked silences, which puzzled Hermione completely. It was the silence of someone trying not to make a sound when part of them really wanted to, like they were trying to cry in silence.

Hermione's eyes widened. She edged to the corner of the shelves and looked around. A boy was sitting with his back against the shelves, holding a textbook in front of his face. Hermione frowned. That was the book _she_ needed. A pale hand occasionally reached out and helped itself to a small pile of chocolate next to the boy's legs.

Realisation hit Hermione like a ton of bricks, and she gave an involuntary gasp. There was only one other person who needed that book, to her knowledge. Malfoy began to lower the book, his distinctive white-blond hair coming into view, looking for the cause of the gasp. Hermione jerked back behind the shelves, praying he hadn't seen her.

Hermione could feel her lungs heave, the adrenaline pumping round her body demanding air, but she held her breath instead, trying to stay absolutely silent. _Please don't let him check if anyone's here, please don't let him check if anyone's here_, she thought desperately, as if merely thinking it would stop him from coming. Maybe it did, because after several tense seconds she heard the sound of chewing start again and she breathed again in a great whoosh of air.

Now the panic was abating she wondered what to do. She couldn't just leave him there, crying and eat chocolate. And she did need that book. Maybe if she went and asked for it, he might let her help him.

Help him? Why on earth would she want to help Draco Malfoy? She had been furious with him earlier. But try as she might, she couldn't summon that anger back. Not even when she thought of every cruel thing he'd said, every mean-hearted thing he'd done… He was crying, and her instinct screamed out to help him.

Perhaps she could go and get someone? Who was he friends with? Oh yes, Crabbe and Goyle. She wasn't sure what was going on there, since the three had been getting on fine at the end of the previous term, but they were obviously avoiding him now. So not them then. Besides, they didn't exactly strike her as particularly compassionate. She couldn't imagine crying onto Crabbe's shoulder or pouring out secrets to Goyle, not even when she tried to force them into the places Ron and Harry had found in her life. Come to think of it, she probably wouldn't go to Harry and Ron if she needed a shoulder to cry on. She'd be more likely to track down Ginny to talk to.

So a girl then? Pansy Parkinson? Hermione's stomach curled at the thought, but the girl had always fluttered around Draco. Occasionally she had claimed to be his girlfriend, but if that was how Draco treated his girlfriends then Hermione felt almost sorry for her. He didn't seem to care either way about her, tolerating her so she could stroke his ego. Again, probably not someone he'd want to talk to if he was upset.

Maybe… maybe Snape. Hatred, anger and a modicum of shame danced through Hermione at the thought of having to actively look for him after the day's lesson, but he seemed the most likely person Draco would talk to. Of course, he didn't share her love of teachers, but he had always seemed to like Snape, who at least wasn't freezing him out like his house seemed to be. But would Draco really want to talk to a teacher? It seemed a bit daunting.

"Are you going to stand there all day?" a soft voice drawled.


	5. Chapter the Fourth

**Chapter the Fourth **

"Are you going to stand there all day?" the soft voice had drawled.

Hermione froze, staring at the opposite shelves in absolute horror.

"You've been wavering back and forth for over a minute. I know you saw me. Please, return the favour and let me know whose legs I have the pleasure of viewing."

Hermione frowned. She stepped forwards and stared at the shelves. Around knee height there was a section of missing books, and the shelves stuck out past the wall for almost a metre. She cursed herself for not backing away further.

Steeling herself, she stepped around the corner.

"Granger?" Malfoy's mouth was open, absolute horror mingling with gut-wrenching shame evident in his tone. Hermione blushed to her roots, bag clutched protectively n front of her.

"I… I was looking for the book," she murmured, "that book," she gestured in Draco's direction, unable to take her eyes off him.

His hair was rumpled from the shelves behind him. One hand was resting on the pile of chocolate leaning on the bare wall, while the other was clutching the book like a shield, as one of the Hermiones had done in Potions. His eyes were red and puffy, a single tear still clinging to his cheek. His lower lip trembled, and he bit down hard to stop it. The last summer had added some maturity to his face, and he'd grown a lot since starting Hogwarts. He was lean and slender, angles and smooth curves, lithe and delicately muscled. His face had 'pain' written on it, and his body had 'suffering'.

Have you ever unexpectedly come across someone crying? Whether it's someone you know or someone you don't, it's always awkward. It's worse when you know them, but not well. Be it a friend of a friend, someone from a class whose name you know but nothing else, or a hated enemy, you just don't know what to say, but feel obliged to say something. Hermione still wanted to help, but she might as well have run into Dean Thomas in tears. She had no idea what to say, what Draco wanted to hear, or needed to hear. So she did the most sensible thing she could in the situation, and offered him a tissue.

Draco looked surprised, but accepted the paper handkerchief and wiped his eyes. He muttered something that might have been a thank you, and Hermione sat down beside him. To her surprise he didn't object, though he didn't really react at all.

They sat in silence for a bit while Draco shredded Hermione's tissue absentmindedly and occasionally helped himself to chocolate, not thinking to offer Hermione any. Eventually he seemed to remember she was there and shot her a suspicious glance.

"What did you say you were doing here?" he asked, his voice under control and carefully modulated to sound completely calm. Now Hermione had something to compare it too, she realised that Malfoy had been speaking in those same carefully measured tones ever since she saw him on the train.

"I came to find the psychology book," she pointed to it. "This section of the library is dismal, isn't it?"

"Who gives a damn about Muggles?" Draco muttered, but his heart wasn't in it.

"This isn't about the rumour, is it? I swear I had nothing to do with that!"

Draco shot her a look. "_Which_ rumour?" he asked.

Hermione blushed, suddenly aware that he obviously didn't know what she was talking about, but that she couldn't go back now. "Some people are, um, saying that you, well, youtriedtorapeme," she finished in a rush.

Draco looked her up and down. "Have you told them otherwise?" he asked.

"Of course!" Hermione stared at him, horrified. "Why on earth wouldn't I?"

Malfoy shrugged and turned back to the book on his knees. Hermione thought they were falling back into silence again, but he spoke up unexpectedly. "I appreciate that," he said dully. "They would expel me if they thought I had."

"Oh," was all Hermione could say to that.

"You need to read this," Draco waved at a page in the book. "If Professor _Kelp_ really is trying to use operant conditioning she ought to be rewarding us too."

"Maybe we haven't done anything reward-worthy." Hermione sighed. "I know she's an empath, but really, she has no right to punish us for feeling-"

"…my father thinks _he _does…"

"-Everyone feels, right? It's what makes us human. Without emotion we are- what did you say?" Hermione stared at him.

"Nothing," Draco snarled. He shoved the book roughly into her hands.

"Hey, watch it!" Hermione protested. "That hurt."

"Good!"

"I'm trying to help you here! I'm being nice."

"Well now you know it's not worth it, don't you? Draco Malfoy, not worth the time of day. I don't need your pity! I don't need anybody!" He glowered at her. "You never bothered before, did you? Never cared." He was breathing hard, almost gasping for air at times, as he spoke, scrubbing a hand across his eyes desperately but unable to stop the tears that pooled there. They were fighting in whispers, though they probably needn't have bothered. "Why are you here, Granger? Why do you bother? No one wants nasty little mudbloods poking into their business, pushing their nose in where it doesn't belong. You got my father arrested!" His voce had gone up at least an octave. His shoulders were shaking furiously and his chest was heaving. "Go away!" he shrieked, but still whispered. "Leave me alone! I don't want you here! Mudblood. Mudblood, mudblood, mudblood."

"I hate to say it, but I've gotten used to that word coming from you," Hermione said coldly. "So if you think calling me a filthy mudblood is going to make me walk away, you're wrong."

"I don't need you," Draco insisted, tears pouring down his cheeks. "I don't need anybody. Why can't people leave me alone?"

"They are," Hermione pointed out. "That's why you're sitting in a forgotten corner of the library rather than in your common room."

Draco shook his head desperately, unable to speak. He made a few inarticulate noises, and then gave in. He collapsed over his knees, hugging them to his chest, crying bitterly. Hermione rubbed a comforting hand across his shoulders and he made a miserable little mewling noise, leaning into her arm. She pulled him close and held him while he cried, digging one-handed through her bag for more tissues.

When she found them and pushed them gently into his hand he pulled away from her. He blushed furiously, wiping his eyes and blowing his nose, unable to look at her. They were sitting much closer together now, and he could feel the warmth of her body hot against his side. It was… pleasant. Comforting. He kept his knees up and book in his lap, carefully hiding a tented area in his robes, spots of crimson high on his cheeks highlighted his aristocratic bone structure, but Hermione was staring into his eyes, concern written across her face.

"Would it help to talk?" she asked softly. "I can promise you I won't tell a soul unless you tell me to."

"I suppose from you a promise like that actually means something," Draco said bitterly.

"Of course it does," Hermione confirmed.

"Why?" Draco asked her, honestly curious. "You hate me."

Hermione shrugged. "That doesn't mean I want to hurt you. Well, not like that. I'd happily give you the occasional slap… What I mean is when you find someone else hurting, you ought to help them, whether they're your worst enemy or your best friend."

"I can't pretend to understand you," Draco said with a weak smile, "but I appreciate it."

"Honestly, what are we to do with you?" Hermione asked in playful exasperation, not aware of how much she sounded like her mother. "You can't understand being nice now and then?"

"Not to someone like me," Draco sighed. He took advantage of Hermione's position to lean on her again, forcing her to put her arm around him if she wanted to remain something related to comfortable. He reached down and broke a chunk of chocolate in two, offering one piece to her.

"Thank you," she smiled. "Now, are you going to stop prevaricating and get whatever it is off your chest?"

"You know what's wrong," Draco pouted.

"I want to hear it from you," Hermione insisted.

"I… They… You put my father in prison!" He pulled away from her suddenly, as though he'd only just remembered this fact. "You put Crabbe and Goyle's fathers in prison too."

"The three of you seemed to be getting on okay at the end of last term," Hermione prompted.

"They've relied on their size their whole lives to keep them out of trouble. Ever since that 'Dumbledore's Army' club you lot started last year, they're no longer able to do that. After the incident on the train Crabbe said he wanted nothing more to do with me. Goyle said that I'd lead them into trouble like my father led theirs."

"I see. What about everyone else?"

"Who'd want to hang around someone with a convicted criminal for a father? What if it's genetic?" Draco looked at her scornfully, and Hermione returned it full force.

"What are you on about?" she demanded. "Why on earth should criminality be hereditary? It's a matter of upbringing."

"And my father brought me up."

"Oh. Um…" Hermione found herself in the unusual position of being unable to think of anything to say. "Look, they'll get over it eventually, I'm sure. There's a limit as to how long people can hold a grudge."

Draco gave an ironic laugh. "Funny, the Slytherin versus Gryffindor enmity is a grudge left from the founding of the school. Imagine that, a grudge lasting for centuries. And think how many other examples there are. The English and the French. The Middle East, that one's been going on for a while. Oh, and don't forget the English versus the Irish, though that's mostly a Muggle thing…"

"You've made your point," Hermione said tersely. "Fine, yes, some grudges last a long time after those involved are dead. Can't you be a little positive?"

"What, and give you an excuse to leave?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not going anywhere," Hermione protested. "I'll be here as long as you need me. Besides, I've still got that work to do." She reached for the book, but Draco grabbed it swiftly and held it in his lap.

"We can read together," he said hastily. "As long as we don't start doing that stupid competitive reading thing where we try and beat each other to the end of the page."

"That's so pointless," Hermione agreed, ignoring the fact she'd been racing Ron earlier that day. She dug out some parchment and a quill and began to make notes. Malfoy didn't bother, but he did continue to share the chocolate. Over an hour passed this way, in absolute silence apart from the turning of the pages and the muted sounds of chocolate being eaten and enjoyed.

Eventually even Hermione had to admit there were no more notes she could wring from the book and Malfoy dragged himself to his feet to put it away. The chocolate was gone and the library was about to close. A silent understanding passed between them: the truce was over. Hermione knew that Draco hadn't told her even half of what was bothering him, but he'd told her something, and she knew she would never breathe a word of it to anyone else. They went in opposite directions when they reached the edge of the Muggle section, not even saying goodbye.

Draco did, however, murmur thank you as he walked away, and when Ron and Harry finally found Hermione she was smiling.


	6. Chapter the Fifth

**Chapter the Fifth**

_They're all gathered around Hagrid's hut for a Care of Magical Creatures lesson. It's on these strange fluffy creatures called Tribbles, and the name nags at Hermione's mind. She knows it from somewhere. Anyway, they're cute and harmless and they make soothing sounds when petted, so no one can find anything to complain about except Ron, who's actually saying they're boring. Well, Harry is objecting, they're better than flobberworms. _

_After the lesson Hagrid takes Hermione aside and asks if she'd like to take care of a special project for him, since he has his hands full with a winged lion that keeps burping slugs. Hermione is curious, though not about the lion. It would explain what had happened to Hagrid's vegetable patch, though. _

_Hagrid leads her to a dungeon that Hermione recognises as being near the Slytherin common room. The walls are cold stone and the windows are simple slits. As they walk Hermione realises that this isn't Hogwarts at all. Hagrid's taken her to Azkaban! _

_The door of the cell they stop outside of creaks ominously open. Hermione peers inside, but she can't see the room's occupant. It's a prison cell, Hermione reminds herself sternly. Who knew what might be in there. It could even be Lucius Malfoy! _

_But still... it's awfully bare. Cheerless. Whatever's in here, she decides, she'll at least bring it a blanket and some pictures to cheer the room up. Light glints off something in a corner, but Hermione dismisses it. Another thought has occurred to her. Just as much as it might be Lucius, it might also be Sirius! _

_Hermione rejects that idea. She's aware now that this is a dream, though that awareness is slightly disturbing in itself. Besides she knows better than to fool herself with drams of Sirius being alive. He wasn't going to come back. They hadn't taken him to Azkaban again. They hadn't sent him on some quest. Sirius was dead. Lucius was in prison. _

_Hagrid pushes her abruptly into the cell and shuts her in. It's cold and dark even though she now knows that this is just a dream Hermione can't help but be scared. She turns and starts banging on the door, keeping one eye on the room behind her. Even if it is just one of Hagrid's pets, it's probably dangerous. Hagrid probably hadn't realised, she rationalises, so he'd shut the door to keep it from getting out while she got to know it, and he'd be back in a bit. Sometimes she wants to scream at him. _

_Oh god, what if it's another dragon. What if he's got another Norbert locked up in Azkaban, because there's nowhere else to keep it? _

_Dream, she reminds herself. _

_A soft mewling sound distracts her, and she turns to peer into the corners of the room. A scaly arm emerges briefly from the shadows, but then withdraws again. _

_Hermione moves slowly towards the corner, wand out. The scaly arm stretches out to her again, and with her free hand she reaches down and holds its hand. With a sob, the creature flings itself on top of her, and she screams in panic. Just as abruptly, it withdraws into the shadows again. But she's seen who it is now, and it is a 'who', not a 'what'. _

_It was a boy, covered in scales, a dragonboy. When Hermione reaches out to the dragonboy again, it cringed away. The damage is done. _

Hermione had always equated dreams with stress, only remembering her nighttime wanderings during exam times, usually. But she wasn't under any particular stress, right now. Sitting up in bed, she wondered what was going on. She'd never remembered a dream so clearly. And, she realised abruptly, she'd known she was dreaming. She'd heard that lucid dreaming was impossible.

She could remember every single detail.

Hermione took a deep breath and determined to cast the strange vision from her mind. She would focus on mundane things. Potions was hell, Defence Against the Dark Arts was tedious, and she had, as usual, found the other lessons ridiculously easy. Still, several weeks into the first term, and the work was building up. Never unmanageable, but she had found herself going to bed at three AM after rewriting an entire Potions essay after spotting a spelling mistake in the middle of a paragraph where she couldn't correct it easily.

She hadn't had much of a chance to contemplate her time in the library with Draco. She put her own recent mood swings down to hormones, and found it a remarkably convenient excuse, since it also explained the butterflies she got when Draco looked at her. She was absolutely determined never to mention it to Ron and Harry, since merely imagining the look on their faces was enough to scare her witless.

It was about five in the morning, and the school was dark. That hour between set of the moon and the rise of the sun. A few stars were still grimly clinging to the night sky, shades of purple and navy blue interrupted by gaps of colour where a few clouds scudded across the sky. Hermione focused on these details, staring out of the dormitory window and concentrating on finding new adjectives to describe what she could see. What came to mind was: scaly, piteous, sinuous, wretched, lean, broken, crushed, dejected, rejected, dispirited, hopeless…

She couldn't get the dragonboy out of her head. The oily patterns of its scales, the luminescent eyes, the tautness of its trembling muscles …It had been beautiful, and she cried because she had hurt it and she missed it.

The window wasn't helping. With a defeated sigh Hermione turned away from the window, but a flash of unexpected starlight made her spin back. She squinted into the half-light, trying to work out where the flash had come from. She wished desperately that she had Harry's omnioculars, but a simple charm would have to do instead.

"Oculum extravideo," she murmured. Her eyesight telescoped abruptly, leaving her dizzy and disorientated. She could see each blade of grass as though she was actually outside, walking across the grounds. Come to think of it, that would have been a more sensible idea.

The charm only lasted a few minutes, and Hermione made use of that time to scan the grounds. When she caught sight of the windowpane all her disorientation returned and she collapsed backwards, unable to cope with the sensation that the window was huge and rushing towards her. As she fell she caught sight of the light again, and guessed it was by the lake. Knowing her luck, it was probably just a ripple caused by the giant squid, but she wasn't going to get any sleep again tonight, so she might as well check it out.

As her eyesight returned to normal she scrambled to her feet. Dressing as quietly as she could, she sneaked out through the common room and down the stairs to the nearest exit onto the grounds. So wrapped up in her task was she, she failed to notice a shock of red hair sticking out over the top of one of the chairs in the common room. Ginny Weasley stared openly as Hermione crept away.

Something about the texture that had reflected the light had set off warning bells in Hermione's mind. It was like the light in the dream, glinting off something in the shadows. Not scales, no, but hair. White-blond hair.

She stared down at the thin body, sleeping in a foetal position, and sighed. The gauzy silk shirt was almost as pearlescent as the scales in her dream, but she was relieved to note a lack of claws.

She had butterflies again. Fine, she could admit that Draco was moderately attractive, but that didn't make him any less of a bastard. It was the vulnerability, she decided. Damn him for bringing out the mother hen in her. He looked so delicate, curled up like that. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he was out here because his house was ostracizing him. She wondered how they could do it, then remembered who she was looking at. Sure, he was pretty, but he was also cruel, prejudiced, arrogant, bigoted and, in general, a complete prick.

"Just because you have one doesn't mean you have to be one," she whispered viciously, inexplicably angry with him. It wasn't fair that he could need her so much and be so evil. It wasn't fair on _her_. "Be ugly or be nice," she told the sleeping body.

"I suppose when faced with the same options you took the first?" a sharp voice snapped. Hermione jumped and stared down, absolutely aghast, as one grey eye opened to regard coldly. "Come to gloat?" Draco asked, sitting up slowly and pulling his cloak tightly around himself.

"Perhaps I ought to," Hermione replied, equally coldly. "What _are_ you doing out here?"

"As if you don't already know," Malfoy sneered.

"They actually kicked you out?" Hermione asked, surprised that even the Slytherins could be that cruel.

"No, but I couldn't have stayed," Malfoy stared at his feet. "Bastards, the lot of them."

"I could have told you that," Hermione said scornfully. "What did they _do_?"

"Oh, the usual. You strike me as the sort to read those dreadful girl's boarding school books. Apple-pie beds, hand in warm water, flobberworms in your shoes, sewing up the ends of sleeves… Nothing I couldn't tolerate normally, you understand, but I felt like a little peace and quiet."

Hermione wondered who the witchy equivalent of Enid Blyton was, and what the books would be like. Quidditch instead of Lacrosse, flying instead of long runs in the rain, flobberworms instead of earthworms in someone's boots…

"What are you thinking about?" Malfoy demanded. "You haven't said anything yet."

"I got sidetracked," Hermione said crossly. "Honestly, why is it whenever anyone's nice you get so defensive?"

"Me?" Malfoy scoffed. "You think _I'm_ defensive? You fly off at the handle at everything! Not every word I utter is an insult aimed personally at you. I follow you into the Gryffindor common room, you fly off the handle at me. You wake me with insults, I reply in like but suddenly you're the victim. The world doesn't revolve around you, Ms Hermione Granger. Things going on in my life are nothing to do with you, and you're being an interfering busybody right now!"

"Is this the bit where you start yelling at me to go away until you start crying again?" Hermione asked scathingly.

"How dare you throw that in my face!" Malfoy's face paled in sheer fury. "How… how dare… how, how… you… how…"

"Do you need me to slap you?" Hermione asked, voice low and equally angry.

Malfoy stood up and walked away, unable to talk. He wanted to slap _her_. She had no right to bring their encounter in the library up. That was _private_. It had taken a lot to even mention it, to admit to himself that being treated like this by his fellow Slytherins hurt. _That it still_ _hurt_.

He wrapped his arms around himself and stared at his reflection. He didn't need simpering idiots like Pansy Parkinson to tell him he was attractive. He didn't need false words to comfort him and flatter him. If they wanted to believe they loved him, let them, but he wasn't their fool. They loved his looks, his money, his confidence… He wanted to ask them what his favourite colour was, what he liked to eat, where his ideal date would be. He wanted to see them stutter and stammer and say what they'd like him to think, not what he actually thought.

In the library, no matter how painful it was to think of it, Hermione had learnt a little of what he actually thought. She hadn't simpered or made eyes at him, she'd handed him a tissue and let him get on with it. She was practical. She said what she thought. She was an ignorant, rude little mudblood, but Draco found himself admiring her for her boldness and stubbornness nevertheless.

His reflection looked less miserable when he thought of her in that light, and he scowled at it. Okay. Fine. She was attractive. His hormones had made that perfectly clear to him. Hermione Granger, witch of no magical blood, was physically attractive. So were many Muggles. That didn't mean he was going to even consider a relationship with them. Mona Lisa could beg at his feet, Helen of Troy could declare everlasting love, Marilyn Monroe could sell her soul to the devil for him, Draco Malfoy wouldn't care. Wouldn't even consider it.

Still… no. Absolutely not. So what if his body had reacted to her closeness in the library? Perfectly natural. Who cares if he'd dreamt about her three times since then? Didn't mean anything. He'd seen her stark naked. Any hotblooded male would have reacted the same way. Most of the Potions class had. And why should it matter that Hermione was angry right now?

Draco Malfoy sighed. His worst enemy was his only confidante. She hated him, he hated her. Anything he said would be used against him. If she knew he, well, found her attractive in the basest possible way, she'd no doubt think he was dirty and perverted, and let the whole school know. But if she was angry with him, she was far more likely to tell people, right?

That was how he rationalised it to himself as he turned around. He had no intention of apologising, but he didn't want things to get any worse. She was a forgiving sort of person, right?

But Hermione was long gone.


	7. Chapter the Sixth

**Chapter the Sixth **

The first Hogsmeade weekend had come and gone. Professor Dumbledore visited the Defence Against the Dark Arts class. A student suffered a minor injury in Care of Magical Creatures. Professor Snape managed to find an excuse to give Harry zero, and even managed to grade Hermione C on a technicality, which left her crying herself to sleep. In short, the term progressed as every other term had.

Now that the Ministry had confirmed Voldemort's return and the Prophet was once more free to type what it liked, over half the owls each morning came bearing a paper. Ron and Harry let Hermione read her subscription and tell them anything of importance, and they weren't the only ones with that kind of arrangement.

Hermione was finding it hard to put Draco out of her mind when they shared so many classes. She felt guilty for abandoning him by the lake, but if she'd stayed she'd only have said something she'd regret later. He never looked at her in class, never looked at anyone, really. As autumn progressed and the weather grew more and more dismal Draco's mood seemed to follow it, getting greyer and darker as the days went by.

It was in Potions, when Hermione was once again paired with Malfoy, that it occurred to her to wonder if anyone else had noticed Draco's moods. His house was still isolating him, and from the talk in her own common room those that had noticed Malfoy's depression were pleased about it. Not a single teacher had asked him what was wrong, or expressed a desire to see him in private. Of course, Hermione didn't know every details of Malfoy's day, he could easily be having counselling regularly, but instinct told her it wasn't so.

Hermione tried to catch Malfoy's eye, but he was pointedly not looking at her. It upset her to think he was still angry about the morning by the lake, but that had been weeks ago now. Of course, he was precisely the type of person to hold a grudge, and to expect others to. She found herself unsettlingly reminded of Ron. He'd been growing suspicious of Hermione's fretting over Malfoy, though she'd done her best to hide it. He hadn't said anything, yet, but things were strained.

She realised with a start that Malfoy was watching her. She stared back, undaunted, and he looked away again.

"Why do you bother?" he asked quietly.

"What?" Hermione stared at him. The first words he uttered to her in weeks, and she hadn't heard them over the clatter and bubble of the Potions lab. "Pardon?" she asked, more politely.

"They're upset with you, I can tell. Why do you bother with them?"

"I like them, I don't want new friends," Hermione said, a little mystified. "Besides, it's not even an argument. It doesn't upset me that much. It'll be forgotten as soon as Snape sets the homework."

Malfoy looked her in the eye. "Can you honestly say that it doesn't upset you?" he asked coldly. "I've seen you crying, Granger, when Weasley stops talking to you. I've seen you running to Hagrid each night when you've got no one else left. During the Hippogriff thing, you were miserable."

"Well, yes," Hermione admitted awkwardly. "I'm not saying it doesn't hurt, when we fight. But we always make up. It doesn't even need saying any more."

Draco cocked his head and eyed her shrewdly. "What would you do if you disagreed on something fundamental to you all?" he asked softly. "Say, a boyfriend or girlfriend. What would you do if you of you dated someone the others despised?"

"We… we tend to hate the same people." Hermione didn't like where this was going. Perhaps it was just her own screwed up hormones, but Malfoy seemed to be suggesting something. "I'm not much interested in dating just now. Being a prefect is very time consuming, and we've got our NEWTs coming up-"

"Which some of us are never going to pass at this rate," Snape drawled. "What colour is this potion supposed to be, Miss Granger?"

Hermione stared at the sludgy brown goop in horror. She'd been so busy talking to Malfoy that she hadn't been watching what she was doing, and had added at least three times too much rosemary. "Blue, sir," she said, mortified.

"Precisely. Really, it's unlike you to get things so wrong. Is Malfoy really _that_ distracting?" Snape raised an eyebrow. Hermione, to her horror, blushed. Ron glowered at her across the classroom, taking her embarrassment as positive proof that she liked Malfoy, as did most of the class.

For Hermione, the rest of the lesson crawled by. More fodder for the rumour mill had been provided by Snape, who seemed to take a perverse pleasure in giving students evidence for speculation on the exact nature of Hermione and Draco's relationship. He seemed to delight in hinting and alluding to 'goings on' between the two, especially using it as an excuse to punish Hermione, while Malfoy, as usual, got off scot-free.

As they made their way to DADA, Harry managed to grab a few minutes with Hermione.

"Is it true?" he asked earnestly. "I mean, you and Malfoy…" he couldn't even say the name without screwing up his face.

"Of course not!" Hermione snapped. "What on earth makes you think I'd date such a thing?" 

Harry chuckled. "Okay, so you're not completely insane yet," he conceded. "But you must admit, you've been acting pretty chummy with him recently."

"I have not!" Hermione drew herself up. "I wouldn't have anything to do with him if I could help it."

"So why do you keep defending him?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"I don't!" Hermione blustered. "Not more than I would for anybody. I'm trying to save you two from yourselves. Do you want to be like him?" she demanded.

"Well, no," Harry conceded, "but we're not saying or doing anything we haven't before."

"But the circumstances are different now. You heard what the Sorting Hat said last year: the houses have to make a better effort to get on together."

Harry sighed and glanced despairingly at his watch. "We have to hurry, or we're going to be late for Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"Harry, be straight with me: did you honestly think Draco and I have a 'thing'?" Hermione touched his arm, hoping his sense would return.

"Since when have you called him 'Draco'?" Harry asked by way of a reply. "You call him by his first name, you defend him, you blush guiltily when Snape implies you found Malfoy distracting enough to get a potion wrong… Really, Hermione, what are we supposed to think?"

Hermione's stomach clenched, and she watched Harry walk off. Try as she might, she couldn't summon the good mood required to face one of Professor Kelp's lessons. She found them irritating enough as it was, without losing her house myriads of points. She'd find Professor Aurora later, and apologise, and offer her excuses.

For the first time in her life, Hermione decided to skip a lesson for no other reason than she didn't want to go.

With nothing better to do, she wandered aimlessly around the school, keeping out of the way of Filch and Mrs Norris, as well as any other wandering teachers. Her immediate impulse was to go to the library, but if she were the only student there she'd be somewhat conspicuous. She cursed the timetabling that meant every student in the school apart from her was in a lesson somewhere. She couldn't go back to the common room; the fat lady would report her for truancy.

With a dejected sigh Hermione wandered out through the entrance hall and down towards the lake. So what if she was seen? Her friends thought she wad dating Draco Malfoy; by now the whole school must think she was head over heels in love with him! Her friends had betrayed her. Tears stung her eyes.

Hermione threw her bag down beside the lake and sat down gracelessly. She was used to Ron's obsessive jealousy, but she had suspected Harry's suspicion. So what if she stuck up for Malfoy? She'd done it before. When he was 'the amazing bouncing ferret' she had laughed, but she'd pointed out the fake Moody shouldn't have done it. What was so different about now? She objected when the teasing went too far, but she had always done that. She stuck up for the underdog. That was what she did. She'd been the underdog; she knew how bad it felt. A large portion of her first year at Hogwarts had been so lonely it still hurt to think about it.

"I'm 'a thing'?" a cool voice asked.

"Huh?" Hermione snapped out of her self-pitying reverie with a jerk, angrily swiping tears from her eyes with the back of one hand. "Oh, it's_ you_."

"What did I do to earn that tone of voice?" Malfoy said, sitting down opposite her.

"You disturbed me when I wanted to be alone," Hermione sighed, somewhere between an accusation and an apology. "It wouldn't hurt to announce your presence a little less suddenly, you know."

"A polite cough, a knock on the tree, that sort of thing?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow that made Hermione's stomach clench in embarrassment.

"How long have you been here?" she asked slowly, resignation dripping from each word.

"Well, let's say I waited, oh, thirty seconds to see if you'd notice me before I gave a polite cough, then perhaps another thirty before I rapped on the tree above your head, then a minute or so during which I tried both again… Two or three minutes, in total?" Malfoy smirked at her as he sat down a short distance away. "So, what drives the studious Miss Granger from her studies?" 

"Oh shut up," Hermione dismissed him. "It's not as though it's even any of your business."

"Fine, then. I bet I can guess though," Malfoy's lips curled in a cruel smile. "Let's see: Weasel's being a bit of a prick because you're hanging out with me but doesn't have the guts to tell you so, but you can tell and yet still claim it doesn't bother you in the least; Professor Snape declared to the potion class, quite accurately judging from your reaction, that you're totally in love with me; you then went on to have a falling out with Potty, over me no less… Actually, it's all about me these days, isn't it?"

"I fail to see the humour in your joke," Hermione said icily.

"Who said I was joking? Face it, Granger, the odds are stacked against you. The world thinks we're paramours, why not give in?"

"I can't believe you!" Hermione gasped. "I thought you of all people would be against this. Think about it, you're being romantically associated with a mudblood, Malfoy. Aren't you always going on about how 'my sort' shouldn't be allowed to breed, let alone with 'your sort'?" Hermione asked bitingly.

"In the words of the inestimable Oscar Wilde: 'the only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about'." Malfoy lay back on the grass and pulled a book one handed from his bag. "Sure, I'm not pleased with it. No one's speaking to me anyway, or I'd tell the whole school how I wouldn't touch you with a broomstick. Right now no one gives a damn about what I think."

"Just because I was something resembling nice to you, and took your side and stood up for you, everyone thinks I love you," Hermione grumbled, more to herself than Malfoy. "I've defended you before. Not quite so vehemently, I can admit that, but you were always capable of defending yourself. And Snape made me sit with you, it wasn't my choice. And just because I blushed, it doesn't mean anything, it's not a confession of guilt. I-"

"Go on and on and on. Ye gods, Granger, when you talk about someone like that try and do it when they're out of earshot."

"What?" Hermione stared at Malfoy, whose face was hidden by the book. 

"You make out I can't defend myself, that you wouldn't go near me given the choice, and when Potter asked if you had any feelings for me you said you wouldn't 'date such a thing'. Slight about face from telling me that things were going to be okay and people would be nice to me and it'd all blow over, I'd say." Draco sighed and put the book down, sitting up to face a bewildered Hermione. "I'm not a chore. If you hate me so much, why didn't you walk away as soon as you realised I was here? If you're going to be so degrading, why defend me at all? If I'm so loathsome, why didn't you stand back and laugh like everyone else?" Malfoy regarded her coolly. "I don't need your pity, Granger, or anyone else's. You act all high and mighty because you think your helping an enemy. If this is how you help your enemies, I hate to think how you aid your friends."

"What… what are you saying?" Hermione struggled to comprehend this epic speech from a boy who had taken a recent dislike to stringing two sentences together.

"I'm saying that before you judge Potty and Weasel taking pleasure in my pain, you ought to stop and think about how much pleasure you're getting out of it as well. You accuse them of going out of their way to kick me when I'm down, but you've just spent the last few minutes whining to yourself about me and generally implying worse things than either of them ever had the brains to. I'd rather you hated me openly than pitied me discretely."

"I don't pity you!" Hermione objected. "I think you're getting precisely what you deserve."

"Oh, that's a comfort."

"But that doesn't mean anyone has a right to make it worse for you," Hermione persisted. "That's makes them as bad as you. Well, the old you."

"As opposed to the new me?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow sceptically.

"Yes. The new you that's depressed and suicidal and lonely." Hermione folded her arms, body language daring Malfoy to challenge that description of him.

"So this is all about Potter and Weasley, not about helping me at all?" Malfoy tried another tack. "If that's so, why come to me in the library? Why not walk off? It's not as though that had anything to do with how Potty and Weasel treat me."

"That's different," Hermione squirmed. "I couldn't just leave you there. Maybe it's not what you would do if our positions were reversed…" Hermione trailed off.

"You don't seem to need a tissue," Malfoy said softly.

Hermione gave him a weak smile. "This is your way of cheering people up? Act all hurt at them until they feel more sorry for you than they do for themselves?"

Malfoy shrugged. "I don't want your pity," he reiterated. "I was mad at you, so I let you know what was making me angry. And you vented as well, so now you feel better."

"Hasn't solved anything," Hermione sighed. "Everyone thinks I've some terrible crush on you, which isn't going to be helped when they see us sitting out here together. Ron and Harry are still going to be standoffish, but I guess I'm less angry with them…"

"Are you angry at me?" Draco asked, lying back on the grass, laying the book over his eyes to keep the autumnal sun out.

"What? No, why?" Hermione lay down next to him.

"Because I didn't stick up for you, or deny anything. Because I just went out of my way to make you angry. Because I'm a chore."

"You're not a chore," Hermione said firmly. "Okay, I don't like having my emotions manipulated, but I'd be in Defence Against the Dark Arts any way right now, and at least I understand your reasons."

"Which are?"

"Misery loves company," Hermione looked across at him, lifting a corner of the book to catch his eye. "You can't put an altruistic spin on it, Malfoy. You were upset and angry and you took it out on me. Just as well I was already upset and angry too. You're good for a little perspective."

"Just as long as I'm good for _something_," Malfoy said, a trace of bitterness undermining the humour he was aiming for. Hermione sighed, but didn't comment.

"So, what are you reading?" she asked after a few moments silence.

"Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde."

"Jekyll and Hyde? That's a Muggle book," Hermione said in surprise.

Draco looked at her as though she was mad. "Have you read it? The guy make's Snape's potions look shabby."

"Isn't it awfully depressing?" Hermione asked.

"So? Suits my mood." 

"I don't think you should be reading it," Hermione said superiorly. "It's not suitable for someone in your frame of mind."

Malfoy hit her in the nose with the book.

"Hey! Ow!"

"Serves you right," Malfoy laughed dryly. "You can't tell me what I can and can't read. Besides, do you really think Victorian gothic horror novels are going to affect my actions that much? If it were a book on ways to commit suicide, sure, but I'd imagine some of the stuff these archetypal characters do is out of even your league."

"What else have you read?" Hermione rolled onto her side. "Is there a lot of wizard fiction like this?"

"There's practically none," Draco sighed. "Even this is written with Muggles in mind. Still, not half bad. Almost finished it now."

"I have a copy of Frankenstein," Hermione said without thinking. "The creature is an amazing concept."

"Okay, I'd like that," Draco accepted. "Bring it to the next Arithmancy lesson?"

Hermione's eyes widened. She hadn't meant to imply she'd lend it to him, she still had her doubts about how suitable it was for him just now, but she wasn't going to be an Indian giver.

"Uh, sure, okay," she stuttered. Oh well, might as well go the whole hog. "I've got Dracula at home, and Dorian Gray, since you seem to like Oscar Wilde, if you want to borrow that. My parents won't mind sending it by owl. I could probably find some other stuff too."

"Yeah, if it's not too much trouble. I seem to be reading a lot recently."

"Perhaps because you've got more free time," a sharp voice said behind them. Both students sat up sharply and swung around to find themselves staring at Professor McGonagall's knees. "…What with all that lesson skipping," she finished.

Hermione and Draco exchanged a glance. "I was in a really bad mood," Hermione began.

"We both were," Malfoy interjected.

"And we're supposed to be in Professor Kelp's class-"

"-but since she's an empath she finds it really hard to teach when she's getting 'negative vibes' off the students-"

"-so we both thought we'd be better off going and explaining to her when we calmed down…"

Professor McGonagall wasn't buying it. "I expected better from you, Hermione Granger. In fact, I'd expect better from any prefect. Malfoy, isn't it? I'll be having a word with Professor Snape about this," she couldn't quite repress a shudder at that thought, "and both of you are to report to Professor _Kelp_'s office as soon as lessons for the day are over."

"Yes, Professor," they chorused.

"And then, once she has decided on a punishment for both of you, you are to report to your respective heads of house for further retribution. As it is, fifty points from both Gryffindor and Slytherin. Now, inside."

As they walked, a gloomy parade, back up to the castle Malfoy hissed in Hermione's ear, "fifty points isn't so bad, we'd have both lost twice that in Kelp's class by now." Hermione had to cover her mouth quickly, before McGonagall saw her giggling.


	8. Chapter the Seventh

**Chapter the Seventh **

The next day was miserable for Hermione. The weather was dismal, things were still strained between her and Ron and Harry, her teachers seemed to be in particularly bad moods and she found herself sitting with Malfoy in several lessons. It wasn't that she found his presence particularly upsetting, it was that she didn't find his presence upsetting. She wanted to hate him, but things had changed too much for that. Some combination of sympathy and trust made him almost likable, and Ron and Harry could both see that she was warming to him. In short, she felt wretched.

And then, of course, there was the detention. She and Draco had detentions on consecutive days, since there was a quidditch match on that evening. Hermione felt slightly put out that nobody had mentioned it to her, but it didn't involve Gryffindor, and since Ron and Harry were being slightly cool towards her it hadn't really come up in conversation. It had already started when Hermione knocked on Professor Aurora's door.

She took the chance to get a proper look around the room. She could remember bits and pieces of Harry's descriptions of the office's previous occupants, but the room seemed to surpass all of them in Hermione's mind. Candles covered almost every available surface. A crystal ball balanced precariously on top of a stack of paperwork and a ouji board poked from between books. Shelves groaned under 'ancient tomes' that were labelled as such, which made Hermione's lip curl in contempt. Velvet and silk hanging covered every wall and billowed across the ceiling, making the room feel unnecessarily cramped, though the sheer amount of clutter had its own role to play there. Hermione picked her way through the scrolls and books to perch on a beautifully ornate but incredibly uncomfortable chair next to a small table that looked like it would collapse any second. No wonder there was so much mess, if she'd rejected even a desk. Professor Aurora had a spread of scrolls across her table, a second year class's homework; she glanced up to acknowledge Hermione, then turned back to the work.

"I never had a detention while at school," Professor Aurora commented offhandedly. "I've never given one either."

"You don't know what to do with me," Hermione guessed correctly.

"I'd make you write lines or something, but that seems so old-fashioned. Tell me, would you have gone to watch the quidditch if you didn't have detention?"

"I suppose so," Hermione frowned, a little confused at this line of questioning.

"Hardly enthusiastic. I suppose merely depriving you of that opportunity doesn't count as a punishment. You're always so keen on homework; I can't exactly make you do that. Of course, you have to catch up from the lesson. That doesn't seem enough, though."

"It's a starting point," Hermione said meekly.

"Well, it is that," Aurora conceded. "Here's my lesson plan. It's got all the notes and so on. I expect you to get on with that while I finish this marking." She cleared a small corner of the table and gestured for Hermione to work there. Hermione looked at the miniscule space and settled for working on her lap.

Half an hour passed in near-silence, punctuated only by the cheers and boos of the crowd outside. Hermione found her mind wandering from the task she had been set, and she wished she knew how Draco was doing on the pitch.

* * *

Draco stared around the pitch in mild disinterest. It was hard to focus on the match when he could see straight into Professor Kelp's office. Hermione's head was bowed in concentration, presenting him with a good view down her top, if he squinted.

There was a yell from below him. Slytherin had fouled the Hufflepuff keeper. Again. Well, it was the only way that had a hope in hell of scoring any points: take out the other team player by player. Even Malfoy could admit the qualifications for the Slytherin team were being big and scary. Actual talent had little to do with it. Maybe he had bought his way onto the team, but at least he could fly in a straight line without falling off the broomstick. In any other house he'd have got into the team on talent, but he just wasn't butch enough to get onto the Slytherin team without a little financial aid.

The match continued, foul by foul. Now Lee Jordan had finally graduated Ginny Weasley had taken his post as commentator, claiming that one season was all she could manage on the pitch. Malfoy was looking forwards to playing the new Gryffindor team. They weren't gelling as well as the old team. Slytherin didn't have the problems: every player was built like a brick wall, with the intelligence to match. You wouldn't know the players had changed if it wasn't for Ginny's commentary, and even she kept getting the names wrong.

It reached the point where if Malfoy caught the snitch, it would be a tie. He despaired of his teammates, who had scored a single goal, and given Hufflepuff eight penalties so far. When they debriefed, he'd point out the flaws in their game plan. Hufflepuff were missing three players already, and were _still_ confident of winning.

The wind was getting up. Malfoy clung to his broom, finally tearing his attention away from Professor Kelp's office long enough to secure his grip on the broom. To his horror, he spotted the snitch, immediately behind the Hufflepuff seeker. The moment he turned around, which he was likely to do any second as he scanned the pitch, the game was over. It would be the most crushing defeat Slytherin had suffered in over a century.

Malfoy hovered on the edge of a decision for a moment, then plunged down towards the snitch. If he fouled the seeker they'd lose anyway, but it was worth the risk. He was so intent on his dive that he didn't notice the bludger hit by one of his own teammates.

Later, someone commented that it was a catch worthy of Harry Potter. Malfoy couldn't argue that, considering the number of novel ways Harry had found over the years to end matches. Malfoy and his broom parted company as the bludger hit the tail and the wind gave an extra violent gust. He plummeted down, watching the ground with an almost sick fascination as it rushed to meet him. The Hufflepuff seeker lurched out of his way at the last second, leaving the snitch behind. Malfoy made a swipe for his fellow seeker's broom, desperate to break his fall. He almost let the snitch go in disgust when he found himself still falling, but his survival instincts told him that if the kill didn't fall him, letting go of the snitch now was certain suicide. His teammates would slaughter him if he didn't draw this match for them.

Suddenly everything went white, then black.

* * *

The sound of the crowd increased in intensity until both Hermione and Professor Aurora were unable to concentrate. Aurora walked to the window and stared towards the pitch.

"I suppose the match is over," she commented. "Something seems to have happened."

The pitch was close enough that Hermione could make out individuals in the crowd, though those bunched together in the stands still looked like washes of garish colour. The Slytherins as a whole seemed very agitated. Madam Pomfrey could be seen hurrying towards the pitch, and Hermione had a sinking suspicion that she knew who had been injured. Her suspicions were confirmed when a stretcher floated swiftly back towards the castle, bearing a bruised and bloody Draco Malfoy.

Hermione sighed. "Well, that's one way to get out of detention," she joked grimly.

Aurora gave her a grin. "Sure, I'll bet he gets his nose broken and ribs snapped all the time just to get out of class."

"I've finished the lesson," Hermione said as they both sat down again.

Aurora took an old fashioned pocket watch out of her top and flipped it open. "Well, I guess I'll have to let you go. If anyone asks, it was a much more unpleasant detention, okay? Snape wanted to have you scrubbing the dungeon floors."

"Sure thing, Professor," Hermione grinned. "I'll see you next lesson, okay?"

"I should certainly hope so," Aurora scolded.

Hermione departed, and Aurora leant back in her chair. This job was so much harder than she'd ever anticipated. And all these complications kept cropping up. Was she being too harsh on the students? Maybe Snape could cope with being hated, but she couldn't. She chewed her lip. She'd be lucky to last the year at this rate, but she'd hate to leave like every other teacher had. Hermione's year would go through the whole school with a different teacher each year. Aurora felt she owed them a little stability, but so far she made Neville look like Hermione when it came to charms and potions. Magic just wasn't where her talents lay.

She clucked her tongue against her teeth gently, staring up at the speckled canopy. Why did teaching have to be so damn difficult? The students thought she was either too harsh or too soft, and held her abilities as a witch in utter contempt. She was trying so hard, but, to be honest, so she didn't have any more faith in her abilities than they did.

Aurora sighed. There was no use in thinking things like that. If she was training students to have their own minds completely under their control, she ought to follow her own teachings and keep her mind on the task at hand. Teach by example. She snorted and shook her head. Sure, that was going to work. At least she hadn't told them her real name. The students thought she was a terrible witch as it was: admitting her first name was actually Julie would be too Muggle for words.


	9. Chapter the Eighth

**Chapter the Eighth **

Everyone was talking about Malfoy's mad dive when Hermione got back to the common room. Most people agreed he'd only caught the snitch by accident, and it was his team's fault that he'd fallen, and wasn't it a pig that they'd tied instead of Hufflepuff winning. Hermione just nodded and agreed with whoever accosted her as she made her way across the common room, determine to get to her dormitory and just go straight to bed.

When she got there she found she wasn't at all tired. The sound downstairs would have kept the most solid sleeper awake, coupled with a nagging concern for Malfoy's welfare and guilt for even caring. Sitting cross-legged on the bed in her pyjamas, she raised her wand.

"Accio knitting," she called. The beginning of the first of many elf hats sailed into her lap.

She sat and knitted in silence, enjoying the feeling of accomplishment each time a garment was finished. She'd knitted her parents Christmas presents last year, which had gone down well. She would have done the same for Harry and Ron, but she didn't think they'd have appreciated it quite so much. After all, they knew where she was getting the practise, and they didn't approve of that.

Hermione frowned at her knitting. Why could no one else see the good she was doing? Slavery was bad, no matter what the reason. Dobby was perfectly happy being free. If the other house elves could just give it a try. Tears of frustration began to crawl down her cheeks.

"Mistress Hermione, don't cry!" a voice chirped. Hermione jumped and turned to see Dobby sitting on the edge of the bed, holding out a very dirty handkerchief. Hermione wiped her eyes on the back of her hand and to her relief Dobby put the handkerchief away.

"Why can't the other elves be happy, like you?" Hermione asked quietly. "You like being free." She opened her mouth to ask how many her hats had freed, but she got a better look at what Dobby was wearing and almost started to cry again. Every hat, every sock, every scarf… Dobby grinned at her through layer upon layer of wool.

"Mistress Hermione, the other elves asked Dobby to tell Hermione not to put out the clothes any more," Dobby said seriously. "They are getting most offended."

"I'm trying to free them," Hermione said desperately.

"That's why they be getting offended," Dobby said sagely.

"It's social conditioning, that's what it is," Hermione said angrily. "They're brought up to want to be slaves. If house elves grew up without that stereotype to conform to I bet they'd revolt against being slaves."

"Maybe," Dobby said cautiously, a little taken aback by Hermione's sudden mood change.

"If you ever have children, if any of the elves here ever have children, you have to tell them that being free is better. That every living, thinking creature has a right to be free! That they don't have to clean up after humans!" Hermione demanded vehemently. "You have just as much right to be looked after and to look after! You deserve freedom of choice!"

"And if house elves chose to work?"

"You deserve freedom of speech! You deserve freedom of all kinds!"

Dobby sighed. He appreciated what Hermione wanted to do, but he wished she could see it from their point of view. Slaves had to be looked after. They had to be fed and sheltered and cared for when they were sick. Free people didn't. House Elves liked to work, and they liked the security their work provided them. The only thing that made Dobby different was his work for the Malfoy's. There was no security working for them, very little food or shelter or health care.

This line of thought made Dobby remember something else. "Mistress Hermione," he interrupted her again, "there is a new house elf here, also free, also from the Malfoy home that Dobby came from."

"Is he, or she, pleased to be here? Pleased to be free?" Hermione asked fervently, eyes bright.

Dobby stared at his feet. "In a manner of speaking, Mistress Hermione. She, her name is Mitty, is pleased to be here, but not pleased to be free."

"I don't understand."

"She is pleased because her young master comes here, and she wants to look after him. She is most worried about him. She said she saw you with him, Mistress Hermione, and she would like to talk to you. She wants to make sure he is just fine."

"Draco Malfoy? He is far from 'just fine', but I'd like to talk to her as well," Hermione said thoughtfully.

"You are not to talk to her about being free," Dobby cautioned, "She will not take that well. She is in denial."

"Denial? About being free?" Hermione looked perplexed.

"She thinks Master did not mean it, that he only did it so she could come here and look after him. He does not even know she is here yet." Dobby led Hermione out of the dormitory and through the common room. Harry watched as Hermione and Dobby passed through the portrait hole. He nudged Ron.

"Hey, Hermione's going off with Dobby. You don't suppose she'd got some new plan for SPEW?"

"Probably," Ron said despondently. He didn't resist as Harry pulled him through the portrait to follow Hermione and Dobby. "Hey, is he still wearing all those clothes she knitted?"

"Looks like."

"Weird."

"Yeah. Come on, they're going to that room near the kitchen's, I'll bet. I wonder if they're going to see Winky?"

"You know, there was cake back in the common room. It had 'Malfoy splat' written on it. I wanted some cake."

"We'll ask the house elves for some, okay?"

"Oh, okay."

"We'll even ask them to put 'Malfoy big splat' on it, if you want."

"Well, when you put it that way..." Ron grinned.

* * *

Mitty was sitting on the cold stone floor, surrounded by the clothes Hermione had knitted which Dobby couldn't fit on himself. She was meticulously sewing Slytherin 'S's and Malfoy crests to them. Hermione didn't have the heart to tell her they wouldn't fit Draco.

"Hello?" Hermione said softly. "I'm Hermione. You must be Mitty."

The house elf raised her head to stare at Hermione with cold, calculating eyes. Hermione shivered involuntarily. It wasn't an observation to share with Draco, but this house elf reminded her a great deal of Lucius Malfoy.

"Yes, I am known as Mitty," the house elf said stiffly. Hermione couldn't work out what was odd about Mitty's speech until she continued, "I am worried about Master Draco. I hear you've spoken to him."

"You refer to yourself in the first person!" Hermione said suddenly. "You're the first house elf I've met that does that," she added quickly.

"I was well brought up," Mitty said coolly. "Tell me, is Master Malfoy alright?"

Hermione was somewhat taken aback by Mitty's tendency to order her about. This is what she wanted for the house elves, surely, but it was such a difference from the usual servile attitude that it put her off a little.

"Well, I think he's getting a bit better," Hermione said hesitantly. "He doesn't say much, and he seems really emotionless. Everyone is avoiding him."

"Except you," Mitty pointed out. "You have been a good friend to Master Malfoy, and I am very grateful. When he was so lonely he tired to hurt himself. If I had not been there he would not have come back to Hogwarts this year."

"So I heard," Hermione said quietly. "He won't talk about it at all."

Mitty frowned. "I will tell you," she said eventually, "so you can help him more."

Hermione settled herself more comfortably on the stone floor. The chance to find out what had happened to Draco over the summer was one she couldn't pass up, and all of her attention was focused on Mitty. That's why she didn't notice the extendable ear being slipped under the door by Ron and Harry, who were sitting in the kitchen eating cakes and pastries.

* * *

"It was the first week in summer," began Mitty, "when Mistress Malfoy decided to leave. She always loved her son, or acted like she did, so it came as a surprise to us. Certainly came as a surprise to Master Malfoy. He asked what he had done wrong, begged her to come back, promised her could change.

"She said she didn't have a husband, so she didn't want a son. She said the men had to stick together. She said he was just like his father. She said she wanted to be free. She'd had enough of being a trophy wife; she wanted to be a free woman. She said he was old enough to look after himself. She said he'd be okay without her.

"She said she loved him, and she said good-bye.

"Master Malfoy was very upset. He kept saying he could take care of himself, and that he loved the freedom to do what he liked, and he'd never liked either of his parents anyway. He researched ways to kill Harry Potter, collecting all the worst curses he could think of. He blamed Harry Potter for everything you see.

"We were used to this, we let him be angry with Harry Potter. He was always ranting about how Harry Potter hurt him, how Harry Potter made life hard for him, how everything was Harry Potter's fault. Harry Potter was why Slytherin didn't win the Quidditch Cup. Harry Potter was why he didn't ace his OWLs. Harry Potter was why his father was in prison.

"But then, one day, he said, 'what if it's my fault?'

"We were worried for him then. He stopped talking, even to the portraits. The portraits thought he was a model Malfoy, they liked him. His father never thought Master Draco was a model Malfoy. He thought he was too squeamish, and interested in the wrong activities, and all sorts of things. Master Draco would spend hours talking to the portraits, who made him feel better.

"Now, all Malfoys have believed in Pureblood supremacy, and Draco was well brought up. He believed what he was told to believe. He did what he could to further the cause. Before he was born, one of the portraits questioned the Dark Lord's method of getting power, and Master Malfoy had it burnt. The screams were terrible. Master Draco doesn't know it, but that's why his uncle isn't in the portrait gallery.

"Master Draco would talk to the portraits whenever his father beat him. He would talk about how unfair it was, and how he tried his hardest, and how he upheld the Malfoy name as well as he could. They would tell him that he was doing well, but his father would still beat him because he wasn't doing well enough. He wanted a perfect son, and Master Draco wanted to be perfect for him. He practised sneering and sarcasm and wit. None of his hobbies were perfect enough, so he took up hobbies his father had had in his youth. He worked so very hard, and when he still failed to be perfect he would sit and cry in the portrait gallery.

"When his father was arrested, he didn't need to try and be perfect any more. He didn't have anything to do, because he never did anything except try to be perfect. When he decided that actually his mother's departure was his own fault, that he hadn't been perfect for her either, he stopped visiting the portraits. They were the only company in the house he had, but instead he would sit alone in his room for days and days. He stopped eating, most of the time. He kept trying to call his mother, but she refused to speak to him.

"Master Draco decided to visit his father in prison. Dementors scared him silly, but he went anyway. I went with him, you see, to watch him and carry his things. He met Masters Crabbe and Goyle there, visiting their fathers. They told him they blamed him. They told him that his father had been the ringleader and the one who told the others what to do. They didn't want to have anything to do with the son of a master criminal. Their mothers had forbidden them.

"I wasn't allowed to go in when Master Draco met Master Malfoy. All I know is he went in full of pain and sadness and worry and hope, and he came out empty. I don't know what his father said to him, but Master Draco didn't shed a single tear after that. He said he'd rather be _a Black_ than a Malfoy, when I pressed him. He said no one wanted him, no one liked him, no one loved him, and he could finally see why.

"One day not long after we couldn't find him. I had made special cheer-up soup for him, with chuckling charms in it, but he wasn't in his room. We searched the house for him, but he was nowhere to be found. There are many of us working there, but no matter how hard we searched, we couldn't find him. He had been an accident-prone baby, so there were wards on the windows and balconies to stop him falling to his death and all the knives automatically blunted when they touched his skin. Nothing on the grounds could hurt him because he had Malfoy blood. Everyone had always assumed this meant he couldn't hurt himself either.

"I was searching his mother's room when I heard a strange sound coming from the wardrobe. Mistress Narcissa, you see, has a very big wardrobe. It's almost as big as her room, and very tall so her cloaks don't touch the floor and get dusty. So I went to check the gnomes hadn't got in again, and there he was standing on a chair with a belt tied around his neck. As I watched he kicked at the chair and fell. I made the belt undo itself and told him that you weren't supposed to wear belts around your neck, but your waist. He collapsed to the floor and yanked it off and threw it at me, and I caught it. He yelled a lot and burst into tears, throwing himself on the bed.

"'I can't even commit suicide right,' he was crying. 'Father is right, I'm not worthy of the name wizard, let alone Malfoy.' It was his mother's closet, where she had kept her most precious things: her clothes. She had taken all her precious clothes, but she had not taken Draco. I think he was hoping she would appear and save him, and care about him. He was very angry and shouted a lot and threw things. I apologised that he wasn't dead, but he said that wasn't why he was angry.

"Master Draco had suffered from depression before, but his father thought it was just another sign of weakness and beat him for it. Master Draco used to spend hours in his room, doing nothing, thinking nothing, sometimes crying for no reason. His mother used to cheer him up. I suppose things were just happening that would make him depressed, and not having anyone to cheer him up just finished it off.

"He wouldn't talk to anyone about what he had tired to do. His failure seemed to make him even more upset. When he went for three days without eating at all we called St Mungo's and they sent someone to talk to him. Master Draco threw him into the pond when he started talking about 'cries for help'. Master Draco is quite capable of looking after himself, you see, as his parents used to go on holiday and leave him with us in the house when he was younger. He was always very well behaved. He is very well behaved now, and he started eating and sleeping like a normal person again, to appease us.

"When he was suicidal at least he was something, but after he went back to being empty. He might as well be dead, for all the reaction we could get out of him. When his mother called him using the Floo network he wouldn't speak to her, and he didn't want to visit his father ever again. He only came back to school because I asked, poor thing, because I said he needed to be around people. He said he wasn't fit to be around people, but he might as well go because we were getting on his nerves.

"I've been watching him here, and he's still empty. The only time he's not quite so empty is when you're with him, Mistress Hermione. Sometimes he's angry, sometimes he's sad, sometimes he's okay, but he's always more than just empty. He dreams about you, sometimes. You hate him, but you care for him, and he's confused."

"He's not the only one," Hermione sighed.


	10. Chapter the Ninth

**Chapter the Ninth **

Somewhere, in the darkness of the night, a serpent rounded its way between old stone and worn masonry. It slipped between bars and around locks. It bit a man in the dark, because it didn't much like that man. It couldn't kill, but the snake felt like being petty. The idiot yelped in pain. Then he looked down, and screamed in terror.

The snake sighed in frustration, a feat for a snake. It moved up the flabby body with soft speed, coiling around legs and between folds of fat up to a comfortable noose around the neck. Snake and man paused eye-to-eye. The screams had faded to breathless squeaks. The snake stuck its tongue out, for once not tasting the air and instead meaning everything human in the movement. And then it winked as its coils tightened for the last time.

When the snake was quite certain the man wouldn't be around to talk about winking serpents, it moved on. The body was warm and the night cold, but no matter how much he craved the heat he had more important things to attend to. The stones and mortar stole much-missed scales, but even that wasn't enough to justify so much as a simple rest. Slit windows were greying, a sure sign that he'd spent too much time toying with men too unimportant to even be hated.

There were no cracks here, no chinks. Not even a rat could get in and out. No animal could, let alone a human. You stayed here for good, living off crumbs and droplets. The sea roared dully outside. That was why. You could get out, but you'd drown. Even the rats here, fierce swimmers the lot of them, wouldn't risk it. And for a cold blooded creature it was suicide. No foolish animal could escape.

But the snake was far from foolish. He'd had this planned out every step of the way for months now. Snake's don't like to be kept cooped up. They're too good for that. So he'd watched the comings and going. The visitors who came with a shiver; those who came with a purpose, and those who came to gloat. They came on the first boat and left on the last. It was the only choice they had, because the boat only went each way once a day.

The snake curled in a hollow by the guards' post. The boat came on time, as always, and the sole visitor climbed off with a weary scowl. The snake was both pleased and displeased by him. It would be deliciously ironic, but deeply demeaning. Still, only a fool would turn his nose up at a ticket out of there.

The outer cloak was shed and the visitor gone. The snake slipped inside the discarded robe, hissing gently at the strange collection of Muggle implements that littered the pocket. He didn't know how long he'd have to wait. All day, it felt like, but after the past few nights he was grateful for the chance to sleep. As uncomfortable as it was amongst the three pronged objects and strange spindles of string, the time and temperature caught up with him.

He woke to a hand in the pocket. It took all of his self restraint not to bite it. He squirmed desperately, but there was no hope for it. The hand brushed his scales and he tensed. A dead body would attract a lot of attention, but he'd already done that, hadn't he? Just as he was about to sink his fangs and start climbing, the hand withdrew and he felt a jerking motion. The idiot was taking off his cloak for a better look.

The snake made for the darkest corner, but a scale ripped jagged by the rough floors caught on something. Glancing back, the snake saw almost a full skein of wool worked into the lining. And somewhere under that, he exalted, must be a hole. Picking with fangs and tail, he forced the wool apart. It was a tiny hole, but he was a snake, and tiny holes were his speciality. As the eye came to the entrance the last flick of tail whisked away, and the snake lay heavy in the lining. The cloak shook violently a few times and he felt a hand grope long his length, but the man seemed to give up after a while.

After a while the fervent rocking ceased, and after a period of rhythmic swaying the snake recognised the gentle vibrations of a train. A second set of vibrations joined it shortly afterwards, and the snake worshipped his good luck. Coiling out of the lining, out of the pocket, and out of the carriage, the snake lay in wait by a pair of scuffed and cracked doors. A Muggle train, then.

There was a large gap between train and station, but the snake found a pair of boots to act as temporary transport on the rushed flood of ankles. There were several moments of gut-wrenching terror as the snake darted between heels and toes in a panicked dash amongst a flurry of feet. Any second now a Muggle might look down.

And then he was free. Sliding down the final slope of the station, following the track away from car parks and gravel and tired houses. A nice little country station, out at the end of a village. Even the rain was welcome. It wasn't long before night crept up as well, and finally the snake didn't have to worry about being seen.

An aristocratic blond man surveyed the dismal fields. Even naked and dirty Lucius Malfoy was still an imposing figure as he strode across the English countryside.

* * *

Hermione was sitting opposite Ginny when the parcel arrived almost a week later. Ron and Harry, chatting about another Quidditch match on some looming date that Hermione only remembered because it clashed with a test, both saw the bundle as the overburdened owl careened towards Hermione, actually slamming into Ginny's cereal. Ron reached across to his sister and fished the parcel out of the mess of milk and cornflakes. He unwrapped it while Hermione mopped milk out of Ginny's hair with her handkerchief.

"Sorry," Hermione smiled apologetically.

Ginny laughed. "That's okay, I wanted toast anyway. So, what've you got there?"

"Books," Hermione said simply. "A bit of light reading."

Ron glanced through the books and handed them to Harry, who studied the covers. "Frankenstein?" he said curiously. "I thought that was meant to be pretty dark."

Hermione chuckled. "Gothic horror. I've promised to lend them to someone, but you can have them when he's done, if you want."

"He?" Ron asked suspiciously.

Hermione recognised her mistake too late. "I have to go to the library now," she said quickly. "See you at lunch!"

Ginny rolled her eyes as Hermione hastened away, leaving her breakfast half eaten. Ginny had heard the rumours, and she thought it was sweet, in a 'Romeo and Juliet' kind of way. Of course her brother and Harry thought differently, but they were male. And had good reason to hate him. Though, Hermione did too, really. She just had a larger heart, Ginny supposed. And eyes. Like Harry, Draco had those Quidditch player thighs.

"Mroaw," Ginny murmured under her breath, then giggled.

"Are you okay?" Ron asked, looking concerned.

Ginny just started to laugh harder.

* * *

The library had just been a convenient excuse, but Hermione knew that if she was to find Malfoy anywhere, it would be either the library or the lake, and it was tipping down with rain outside. It was a Sunday, so she had all day to find him, but something in her wanted to get this over and done with. It was odd, because her words to her friends had left her with the whole morning to spend with Draco.

He wasn't at any of the desks, but Hermione didn't bother look there anyway. She strode determinedly through the library into the darkest, mustiest corner. And there in the Muggle section, curled up around his bandaged ribs, was Malfoy.

Hermione sat down next to him without ceremony. He smiled at her.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. It was a real smile, not strained, not weak, not empty… Malfoy was honestly pleased to see her. She beamed back.

"My parents sent those books I was talking about the other night," Hermione told him. His smile faltered slightly. "Look, here's Frankenstein, and Dracula, and some stuff by Edgar Allan Poe…" she persisted.

"Thank you," he said softly, "quoth the Ravenclaw."

Hermione laughed. "You've read some Poe then?"

"That poem is famous," he smiled. "We used to have some books of Poe at home. I liked The Telltale Heart."

"You know, I've never actually read that one," Hermione admitted. "I've only got the books because we had to study some of his poetry for English."

Draco snorted. "You study English in Muggle schools? I can't believe you have to be taught your own language."

Hermione scowled at him and gave him a gentle shove. "Don't be stupid. We study literature and the complexities of the language. I bet you wouldn't know a preposition from a proposition."

Draco laughed, but it was breathless and dissolved into a weak cough. He was still clutching his side where Hermione had pushed him. She blushed slightly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you," Hermione said, surveying his wounds with poorly hidden interest. "I wish I hadn't missed the match. I hear it was quite interesting."

"Not really," Draco tried to shrug, but winced and grabbed his shoulder.

"What happened to you?" Hermione asked. "I saw you being carried away; you look like you hit the ground face first."

"Thank you, I'm so very flattered," Draco said sardonically. "In fact, that's exactly what happened. Apparently it was a fall worthy of Potter, or something like that. I caught the snitch when I made a swipe for someone else's broom."

Hermione giggled. "That is very like Harry," she grinned. She looked him up and down again. "Do you know how bad it was?"

"Broken nose, three cracked ribs, broken collar bone, broken arm, sprained wrist, concussion…" He gave her a martyred look.

Hermione frowned. "But Madam Pomfrey can patch broken bones over night. Why are you still all wrapped up in bandages? It's not like that hippogriff scratch again, is it?" she asked suspiciously.

"No, and that was serious. Okay, maybe not as serious as I was making out," he admitted, "but Madam Pomfrey couldn't heal it immediately. I suffer from something that means I'm almost impervious to healing spells. There's a possibility I have Veela blood." Draco was glowering at her. "You've got no right to judge when you don't know all the facts."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," Hermione raised her hands in a gestured of exasperated apology. "So, what are you reading?"

"Something by a guy called Freud. Remind me to avoid brooms, wands and snakes at all costs, okay?" Draco grinned easily.

Hermione laughed. "Have you reached the bit where he thinks babies only feed from their mothers for oral sexual gratification?"

"Sexual?!?" Draco's voice shot up several octaves. "Okay, we're done with him!" and he threw the book across the room, wiping his hands on his trousers. Hermione had to stuff her fist in her mouth to keep from making too much noise.

"It's all about sex with Freud," Hermione said when she finally managed to stop giggled.

"Oh, _really_?" Draco said sarcastically. He leant back against the wall and began to look through the books Hermione had brought for him. "So, these look interesting. Nice and depressing."

"I suppose they are," Hermione leant back next to him, "but they're brilliant books. I wasn't very keen on Dracula – it's a tough read but an interesting format – until I saw a film where one of the characters said the saddest thing in Dracula is that he has no servants. Whenever one of the characters visits his castle, he serves them himself. He's five hundred years and alone."

Draco stared down at the cover. "Vampires, huh? You know, they're not really like that."

"I know."

There were a few moments of awkward silence, which Draco filled by reading the covers of the other books. Hermione sat beside him, trying to decide whether to leave or not. Just as she had made up her mind to go, Draco put a hand on her arm to keep her there.

"I see you and Potter and Weasley have made up," he said, voice ever so slightly strained.

"There wasn't really anything to make up. I can see why they're a bit unnerved, but I guess they've realised that this is just who I am." Hermione grimaced. Harry had even go so far as to say she could talk to Draco as much as she liked, though Ron had quickly added that he couldn't see how she could possibly 'like' talking to a guy who had made all their lives hell. Hermione had readily agreed.

"Perhaps they've noticed that we spend more time talking when you're upset with them," Draco pointed out pessimistically. "Maybe they think we're plotting against them."

"I'd never do anything to hurt either of them," Hermione said crossly.

"I don't know. If you and Potter ever got something going, Weasley would never speak to either of you again."

"Something… Harry… What?" Hermione stared at him. Draco began to edge away.

"Surely you've seen it? The way Weasley gets so possessive and jealous. You must have noticed: he's falling for you hard," Draco gulped, and slipped back another inch.

"Falling?" Hermione looked at him incredulously. Draco cowered. "Oh my…" and she burst out laughing.

Draco laughed as well, his relief evident in the slightly hysterical edge. Hermione realised this, but it only made her laugh harder. Draco moved back to sit next to her, slinging one arm around her and pressing his other hand to her mouth.

"If we… we're not qui…quieter," Draco gasped, "Madam Pince will… Pince will come and…"

"I know," Hermione interrupted, still giggling, pushing his hand away and replacing it with both of her own hands.

Draco grinned at her. "You have to admit, Weasley does get very jealous," he said softly.

Hermione sighed. "You don't have to tell me that. If I want to write to Victor I have to do it in the girl's dormitory."

"Victor Krum? Are you two…" Draco let it hang.

Hermione smiled at him. "No, we're not. He's considerably older than me, for a start. Besides, he lives in Bulgaria. There's long distance relationship and there's lunacy, in my opinion. I've visited him once or twice, but we're basically just friends."

"Does Weasley know that?"

"I don't know." Hermione frowned, "maybe you're right; maybe he does like me in that way. Ridiculous way of showing it if he does."

"What, refusing to talk to you for long periods of time and overreacting to every little thing?" Draco raised an eyebrow. "Welcome to the adolescent male psyche."

"So you do the same when you like a girl?" Hermione smirked at him.

"Oh no, I'm much smoother," Draco purred. The sudden change in his tone of voice caught Hermione's attention, and she moved to look him directly in the eyes. He smiled, a predatory grin, and tightened his arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer.

Slowly, never taking his eyes from hers, Draco Malfoy kissed her.


	11. Chapter the Tenth

**Chapter the Tenth **

It was sweet and short. Draco simply pressed his lips to Hermione's and hoped for the best, arm tight around her shoulders, hand entwining itself in her hair. She pressed against him, enjoy the kiss for what it was. When she pulled back gently, she kept staring into Draco's eyes. He smiled, letting his arm relax, and pulled back as well.

There was a very awkward pause.

"In the movies, this is the bit where it fades to black," Hermione sighed. "In the books, it's where the next chapter begins, a week later, or whatever. No one bothers with what happens _after_ the kiss."

"I suppose I could go and ask Madam Pince to turn the lights off," Draco joked feebly.

Hermione regarded him steadily, hiding her amusement. Draco flushed, spots of colour appearing high on his cheekbones. He looked like some kind of china doll, eyes bright, lips pursed, hair flaxen. He wasn't stunning, but even Hermione could admit he was attractive, and right now his vulnerability was the most alluring factor. His eyes were huge, pleading with her to let him down gently. Hermione sighed.

"I should have been expecting that at some point," she said quietly, looking away.

Draco's jaw dropped. Had she been expecting that all along? The arrogance! "Don't flatter yourself!" he snapped suddenly. Draco decided he didn't like rejection, but he liked being treated like a predictable drone even less. "Do you expect every guy you meet to fall head over heels in love with you?" he asked waspishly.

"Have you?" Hermione looked at him out of the corner of one eye.

"No," Draco scoffed, but the wind had been taken out of his sails. Something in the back of his mind started to chant 'Freudian slip, Freudian slip' over and over again, but he silenced it quickly. Self-doubt could wait for nightfall, to stave off sleep and the accompanying nightmares.

"What I meant," Hermione said sternly, "was that I shouldn't have expected any relationship with a guy to be purely platonic. It's like what you were saying about Ron and Harry earlier. You immediately assumed I'd date one of them. I suppose it's impossible to have a relationship between a guy and a girl without some element of desire."

Draco frowned at her. "What are you saying? That girls can like boys without being attracted to them, but not vice versa? That's rather sexist."

"-" Hermione scowled. She had meant exactly that, but in her head it had sounded less prejudiced.

"I used to have several female friends to whom I wasn't attracted. In fact, they were all attracted to me," Draco told her haughtily. "So your little theory is way off."

"You mean Pansy Parkinson and her ilk, don't you?" Hermione said sceptically. "I'm not sure if they count. You weren't exactly friends, just a god and his worshippers."

"Funny how I was the most delicious thing since chocolate," Draco said cynically, "right up until the point when my father ended up in prison, my mother walked off and the family fortune started to rapidly drain away. I wonder if there's any connection?" he leant heavily on sarcasm.

"Shallow twits," Hermione managed to sum up both of their opinions in two simple words. By finding something they agreed on, the animosity that had begun to build drained away. Both students were stubborn people, and hated admitting they were wrong, so they both understood that it didn't need to be said. They connected on a level that neither did with anyone else: apologies weren't needed to know the other was sorry.

"You're nothing like them," Draco admitted. "I admire that."

Hermione blushed. "Thank you, I guess."

"Did I do a very stupid thing?" Draco asked softly. "It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I'm always doing stupid things. Seems to be my _raison d'etre _recently."

"Don't say that," Hermione scolded. "It wasn't a _very_ stupid thing. It's just… you did it for the wrong reasons, I think."

"You don't have the faintest idea what my reasons are," Draco said defensively.

"That's true," Hermione conceded. "But the mere fact you regret it shows they were the wrong reasons." She sighed and shook her head. "I ought to go, I promised Harry and Ron I'd help them with the potions essay. I'll see you around, okay? I hope you enjoy the books." She walked steadily away from the alcove, not looking back. Draco watched her walk away, staring moodily at the back of her legs.

"But I don't regret it," he muttered.

* * *

Hermione had thought it would be a relatively simple thing to put the kiss to the back of her mind, but she found it extraordinarily difficult. If she concentrated, she could still taste him. She'd be halfway through a sentence in her Arithmancy homework and suddenly find herself wondering if he could still taste her. Every time she touched the back of her head it reminded her of how Draco and pushed his hand into her hair. The breeze outside was a hundred phantom caresses, the food in the great hall sweet touches to her lips.

She needed to tell someone what happened before she went mad.

Naturally, her thoughts first turned to Ron and Harry. She imagined what would happen if she told them. If it were a joke, it would be hilarious, but if she told them seriously she could kiss their friendship goodbye. Who then? Lavender, Parvati? There were several girls in her dormitory, but Hermione couldn't imagine sharing this with any of them. Gossips, the lot of them. They weren't exactly her biggest fans either. Her parents said they were jealous, but Hermione could be honest and say she probably just annoyed them.

"Hey," a familiar voice called. "What's got you so deep in thought?"

Hermione was sitting near the fire in the Gryffindor common room, feet tucked up onto the chair, book balanced on her knees. Ginny stood in front of her, looking down at her sympathetically. Hermione smiled suddenly. Of course, Ginny was the perfect person to confide in. And she could be trusted to keep a secret: Percy had managed to keep her quiet for almost an entire year.

"Can I talk to you in private?" Hermione asked, hoping it didn't sound too ominous.

"Uh, sure," Ginny said nervously.

They retreated to Hermione's dormitory, and sat facing each other on Hermione's bed. Despite Hermione's earlier desperate need to tell someone about what had happened, now she actually had to she found the words couldn't come out. The death toll was Draco's own words: "he's falling for you hard." Was Ron really in love with her? She was about to tell his little sister that she'd just kissed his worst enemy, and guilt was chewing her up inside. He was her best friend, for god's sake!

And that, oddly enough made her mind up for her. They were best friends. She didn't feel that way towards him. Maybe he was attracted to her, but she didn't want to sacrifice their friendship like that. She refused to let herself think about what it would do to their friendship if he ever knew about her and Malfoy.

"Ginny," Hermione said slowly, "I kissed Draco Malfoy."

Ginny's jaw dropped. Hermione's heart sank at the look of horrified surprise on her face. Could she pass it off as a joke? No, that would be worse than letting her know it was true.

Ginny started to giggle.

"It's not a joke," Hermione said crossly.

"I know!" Ginny spluttered. "It's just… just so… I don't know, ironic. Everyone's going on about how you two are a thing, and you weren't, and suddenly, oh god, it's too priceless for words!"

Hermione shook her head, relief hitting her like ton of bricks. "You're not… mad, are you?" she asked cautiously.

"What, because he's a cold, slimy, arrogant, prejudiced git?" Ginny waggled her eyebrows, "nah, coz he's a _hot_, cold, slimy… Okay, you know what I mean."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "You're kidding me!" she gasped.

"Well, a bit," Ginny grinned easily. "I know you're not _that_ shallow."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked, a little miffed at Ginny's implication. Ginny just laughed it off again.

"So, give me the details," she demanded, eyes bright.

Hermione shrugged. "We were in the Muggle section of the library. I'd promised him some books, you know, those ones that arrived this morning. We talked for a bit, he made some comment about how much smoother he was than most teenage boys and kissed me. Then it all got very awkward."

"Those aren't details!" Ginny objected. "That's like saying Britain is an island with people on, where it rains quite a lot. At least give me a ball park estimate of the population!" Hermione grinned at her. "Okay, from the beginning," Ginny said in mock seriousness. "You left the hall with those books. Then what happened?"

"Well, I knew where Draco would be, so I went straight to the Muggle Section of the library. He was reading a book on Freud…"

* * *

'Self-doubt could wait for nightfall'. Draco stared at the canopy over his bed and cursed under his breath. There mere idea of developing a crush on a mudblood was repulsive to him, but somehow the concept of falling for Granger wasn't. Somewhere in his mind she had separated herself from the rest of her kind, proving herself a little more superior to other muggleborns.

"What the fuck are you growling about now, Malfoy?" Blaise snarled across the room. Draco shut up abruptly, but the damage had been done. Blaise clambered out of his bed and wandered over to lean on one of the posts of Draco's bed. "You think just because you're a prefect you can keep the rest of us awake? Perhaps the lesson hasn't sunk in yet," and he grinned.

Draco sighed. "Tell you what, I'll go and sleep in the common room again," he suggested hopelessly.

"Aw, diddums," came Crabbe's familiar voice from a nearby bed. "Can poor Draco-darling not sleep? Are his booboos hurting?"

"Hey, I taught you the meaning of 'sarcasm'," Draco snapped. "You could at least use it with a little finesse."

"Oh yes, because compared with you we are nothing but idiots," Goyle joined in. "Your richer, and smarter, and better looking, and wittier, and…"

"Glad someone's finally seen the truth," Draco said recklessly. His arm still wasn't working very well, and his legs were stiff, and if he moved too fast he got stabbing pains in his chest. So, goading them on it was practically suicide, but at least he'd get a good night's sleep in the ward, drugged up on painless potions and sleeping draughts.

Blaise Zabini, possessed of an intellect greater than Crabbe and Goyle's combined, looked Draco carefully up and down. "You could just go to Madam Pomfrey now," he said softly. "Why wait for us to mangle you?"

"Pride," Draco said bluntly.

"And why haven't you ratted us out yet?" he said just as softly, his voice an ominous hiss.

"Pride, self-preservation, stubbornness, shame," Draco counted on his fingers. "In that order," he added with a smirk.

Crabbe cracked his knuckles, but Zabini held up a hand. "No," he commanded in a certain tone. Draco knew that tone; he'd used it to order Crabbe and Goyle about for years. Those two were born to be brawn to someone else's brain, and Zabini was the natural replacement. "Boys, we're going to leave him alone. We're going to give him no reason to leave this room."

Goyle frowned. "Don't we want to hurt him?" he asked.

"Sure we do. That's why I'm taking away the painkillers," Blaise smiled cruelly. "That famous Malfoy Pride will keep him from admitting how much pain he's in. How well can a person sleep with broken ribs and limbs? No wonder he was muttering."

Crabbe and Goyle retreated to their beds again, but Blaise continued to stand over Draco, tossing the bottle of painless potion up and down. Draco's stomach flipped. Great, now he had pain to keep him awake, nightmares to wake him should he managed to doze off, and Hermione to think about as he lay in the agonising darkness. Blaise winked, tossed the bottle up one final time, and turned away. Draco automatically shot out a hand to grab it, but pain screamed up his side as he reached out and the bottle smashed on the floor.

"Sleep ti- oh no, don't," Blaise grinned as he climbed into bed.

previous 

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	12. Chapter the Eleventh

**Chapter the Eleventh **

Hermione bit her lip. She wasn't avoiding Draco, she absolutely wasn't. She was still going to the lessons she shared with him, right? She just happened to be too busy to hunt him out in the library in the evenings. Now she and Ron and Harry were getting on well again she was spending time with them. And Ginny was hanging out with them too, as though by sharing a secret with her Hermione had created a new kind of bond between them. Well, in a way she had, and it was nice to have another girl around for once.

It was just, well, she didn't know what to say to Draco. Every time she thought about the kiss she felt differently about it. Guilty, flattered, happy, angry, hurt, embarrassed… Draco hadn't exactly made an effort to talk to her either, though Ron had commented that he'd been watching her like a hawk. She'd lied, and said she couldn't work out why. More guilt. Whoopee.

Despite her lack of experience in the field, Hermione felt that it had been a pretty good kiss. Not too wet or too long or too hard. No tongues, since it was a first kiss. That was right, wasn't it? Hermione found herself wishing she'd been more accepting of Krum's advances just so she'd have some basis for comparison until she realised how selfish it would have been to use him like that. It seemed some of Draco's ethics were rubbing off on her, though she believed she was rubbing off on him as well. He was slightly less depressed, for a start, and he hadn't bullied anyone less well off than him almost all term.

It occurred to Hermione that in Draco's opinion there probably wasn't anyone less well off than him. It was him depression that was making him appear more altruistic, not any change in personality. Which meant she had no reason to be attracted to him, not really. She knew she wasn't shallow enough and too sensible to like him for a surface change. She wouldn't be fooled by someone who acted nice to get what they wanted, especially when they had a history of such. So, either she wasn't attracted to him, or he wasn't the person she'd always thought he was.

That kind of logic had nothing to back it up and little to recommend it. Hermione pushed her reasoning to the back of her mind, along with any thoughts of Draco, whenever they rose. It was hard when she shared so many lessons, but as time passed she grew used to Not Thinking about him.

Hermione chewed the nib of her quill as she sat in Arithmancy, staring at a number chart. The teacher was late, so she was trying to find ways to improve her homework. It was one way of taking her mind off the fact that she shared this class with Draco, and the constant reminder he served as. She was developing a knack for finding distractions, from doing extra work to throwing herself into conversations with Ron and Harry about Quidditch to shopping with the other girls in her dormitory to teaching herself Latin. The first and last were accepted as normal behaviour for her, but when she came back from Hogsmeade with 'an outfit just absolutely perfect for watching Quidditch' Ron and Harry had locked her in the prefect's bathroom and threatened to fetch Madam Pomfrey on account of her insanity.

"I'm trying to…" Hermione had tried to find something truthful and yet not hurtful to say. "I'm avoiding Draco."

"She's sane, let her out!" Ron declared. "And it's about bloody time," he commented as she stepped out.

Hermione had turned on him. "You could try being a little nicer to him," she snapped.

"Still insane," Harry had sighed. "Lock her back in."

"I'm not insane," Hermione told him, trying to keep her frustration under control. "I just feel for him. Sure, he's a complete git, but he's still hurting."

"Why?" Ron had asked, "Why should we be nice to him? He's never done the same for us!"

"He's going through a really bad time. I just think that perhaps we shouldn't go out of our way to make it worse," Hermione had explained impatiently.

"Yes, because he's always been as obliging to us," Ron had sneered. "He deserves it, Hermione. Think about everything he's said and done to you. He deserves to suffer what he's put the rest of us through."

"He's never done this! He never put you father in jail-"

"He's tried," Ron had snarled. "His father was always making trouble at the ministry for us."

"Okay, fine. But think about it, Ron, He's an only child. You couldn't imagine how lonely that can get. His father is in prison and his mother just abandoned him. He comes to school, and all of his friends stop speaking to him. You're just kicking him when he's down."

"He'd do exactly the same," Harry had stood up for Ron.

"Exactly," Hermione had crowed triumphantly. "You're being just as bad as he is, taking pleasure in his pain."

Ron hadn't been able to find an answer to that.

"So why are you avoiding him?" Harry had asked suddenly.

Hermione flinched. "He's… he's growing dependent on me," she floundered. "He needs to try and sort things out with his friends, and I want to spend some time making things are okay with mine."

Ron smiled at her. "Things are okay with yours," he said almost bashfully.

"As long as you keep avoiding him," Harry said ominously. "He's just playing for sympathy. He'll hurt you."

"We don't want to see you hurt," Ron had added solemnly. "That's all."

A polite cough brought her out of her reverie and made her look up. Even when injured, Draco was a poser, showing off his body to its best effect, making the wounds seem like medals for heroism. Part of her wanted to smile at this observation, the rest of her just considered it to be yet another one of his multiple annoying traits.

"Is this seat taken?" he asked, sitting down without waiting for an answer. Another annoying trait, that.

Hermione sighed and began to roll up her parchment. "You're looking a bit better," she observed, "the wounds seem to be healing."

Draco fished a mirror out his bag and studied himself in it. "Liar," he concluded eventually. "I look as though I haven't slept for months."

"Well, yes," Hermione blushed, "but other than that."

"Well, I guess. Wounds do tend to heal if you give them a chance." He put the mirror away and tried to get a look at Hermione's homework, but she finished rolling it up and put it on the other side of the desk, giving him a disapproving look.

"So, why haven't you been sleeping?" she asked. "Are the other Slytherins bothering you again?" she demanded. "You should go to a teacher if they are."

"Okay, we're not all you. Teachers are not my friend," Draco grimaced. "You should see some of my school reports."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're Snape's favourite, and he's head of your house. Why haven't you gone to him?"

"There's nothing to go to him about," Draco insisted. "This isn't uncommon behaviour in the Slytherin dorms – I've done it to others. What goes around comes around. I'm many things, but I draw the line at hypocrisy."

"You're all as bad as each other," Hermione sighed. "You make yourself hard to feel sorry for, you know."

"Perhaps that's because I don't want you to feel sorry for me," Draco said testily. "In fact, it's none of your business whether I've been sleeping or not."

"You haven't been losing sleep over me?" Hermione tried to make it a joke, and Draco laughed, but he blushed as well. Her stomach twisted with butterflies and it took all of her self-control not to touch him, not to brush the hair from his eyes or smooth his sleeve or checked his sling was straight. Seeing the effect she had on him made her feel guilty, and she wished they hadn't run into each other, that first time in the library. Every nerve in her body screamed for her to help him, but every cell in her brain still thought he was a selfish, prejudiced git. She stared at the desk in rapt concentration, fighting the urge to hug him.

Their conversation, which had already stuttered to an embarrassed stop, was prevented from being resumed by the arrival of the teacher. The other Slytherins in the class never took their eyes from Draco and Hermione as they worked silently together, occasionally throwing bits of paper and miscellaneous rubbish at them. It didn't take a genius to work out that their grudge against him hadn't abated. Sitting with a Gryffindor had to be the final straw for the already angry house. As the lesson drew to a close Pansy Parkinson stalked over while they were packing up.

"I don't know what you're thinking," she addressed Draco, "sitting with this mudblood. I knew you'd gone down in the world, but I didn't think your standards would slip quite as far as you. You'd be better off dating a Hufflepuff."

Draco regarded her coolly. "Maybe I will," he said. "Hannah Abbott's very pretty, isn't she? Of course, compared to you, even Hagrid's a supermodel."

"Oh, you think you're so witty," she snarled. "Everyone knows about you and Hermione. _I_ think it's disgusting. No matter what your father did, you still come form a good family. Why do you want to drag the Malfoy name through the mud?"

"I think both of my parents have already managed that," Draco frowned.

"Well, I think your mother did the right thing. If she could see you now she'd disown you," Pansy said triumphantly.

"She already did, you stupid bint," Draco snarled. "You know, that bit where she abandoned me? Where she divorced my father, took as much money as she could get away with and said she wanted nothing to do with me?"

"Perhaps divination runs in your family," Pansy smirked. Hermione had to grab Draco's hand to keep him from hitting her.

"Look, you idiotic, gossip-mongering, pug-faced little bitch," Draco said, enunciating each word carefully, "my life is not, has never been, and never will be, any of your business. For you to even so much as comment on my family is vulgar, crude, and only serves to emphasis your ignorance. And to assume that merely because you and the other Slytherins refuse to let me near any of you and I am forced to sit with this Gryffindor that I have some romantic attachment to her makes you look, well, insanely jealous."

Pansy paled. "I am not jealous!" she shrieked. "I wouldn't touch you with a broomstick!"

"Why jump to the conclusion that Granger and I are dating if it's not already on your mind? Do you think about me, wish you were sitting with me, dream you and I were going out? Pansy, I never knew you cared," he sneered.

Pansy spluttered indignantly, and when she couldn't find the words she settled with spitting at him and flouncing away.

Hermione gave a bark of laughter as she stormed away. "I don't know why everyone is adamant we're dating," she smiled, shaking her head. "Of course, now I'll have to spend this evening dissuading Ron and Harry again. Honestly, it's ridiculous."

Draco stared at the back of Hermione's head as she walked away. Was it really that ridiculous? Perhaps Pansy was right, his standards really had sunk that low. He wouldn't have dreamed of even sitting next to a mudblood until Hermione had been so understanding when he was in the library, and now he had even gone so far as to kiss her.

He tried to picture introducing Hermione to his parents, tired to imagine what she'd be like as a Malfoy. His throat constricted. His mother had been the perfect Malfoy wife, and look how that had turned out. Draco imagined that if he married Pansy, she'd do the same, and the idea of putting his own child through something like that… He stared at Hermione. Maybe it was about time the Malfoys broke from tradition.

"Hey, are you coming to Defence Against the Dark Arts or not?" Hermione called back over her shoulder. Malfoy shook himself and hurried after her.

"What took you so long?" she asked when he caught up. "Are your injuries bothering you?"

Draco opened his mouth to issue a vehement negative, but he suddenly found himself short of breath, just from running the length of a classroom. He pressed his hands to his chest and tried to breath as shallowly as he could, willing the pain away.

"Oh god," she murmured, "they are, aren't they? You have to go to Madam Pomfrey. There's got to be something she can do."

Draco forced himself to stand up straight, ignoring the shooting pains that made him want to curl up in a foetal position on the floor. He had a lot of experience at coping with pain. "No, it's okay. I was wondering, though, if you could make me some painless potion? Or any kind of painkiller, really."

Hermione frowned. "Didn't Madam Pomfrey give you any? Look, if you're okay we really have to hurry to DADA. Besides, I'd need access to Snape's potion cupboard to brew a painkiller potion. They don't let under-eighteens buy the ingredients in case they overdose."

"Well, you've done that before, haven't you?" Draco grinned.

Hermione chuckled. "Actually, I was the distraction. You're one of the best at potions in the year, Snape's ridiculous bias aside. Why ask me?"

"Because I don't have experience of going against the school rules," Draco suggested, not entirely sure why he hadn't thought of doing it himself. He had a suspicion that painkillers would actually be a very stupid idea right now, as they would mask much more serious problems. Zabini had been late to bed the previous night, and Crabbe and Goyle had played a few rounds of 'kick Malfoy where people won't see' until Malfoy had gone limp, passing out with pain.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Just go to Madam Pomfrey and ask, okay. Honestly, why must men do everything the hard way?"

"Male pride," Draco thumped his chest, and immediately regretted it. The amusement in Hermione's eyes turned to swift concern as he slumped again the corner of the corridor. He wheezed something at her, but she looked blank.

"It's okay," she soothed. "Just concentrate on breathing."

"I'd have thought you two would have learnt better," a cold voice said from the other end of the corridor. Hermione's head snapped round. "Trysts between classes are inadvisable, especially when both of you are already establishing quite the record for being late to Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"Draco's in pain," Hermione objected immediately, turning to face Snape. "He needs to go to the hospital wing!"

Snape looked Draco up and down coolly. "Is this true, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but found he couldn't gather the breath to speak. Instead he went into a coughing fit, clamping a handkerchief over his mouth to keep from spraying Hermione with saliva and, as it turned out, blood. When he took the handkerchief away from his mouth she paled and pressed her hands to her mouth.

"Oh Draco," she moaned. "What have they done to you?"

"What have who?" Snape asked sharply, already bracing an arm around Draco to help him to the hospital wing.

Draco shook his head desperately, but Hermione went on doggedly, "the other Slytherin students. I think they've been beating him up. They've certainly been making life hell for him in everyway they can."

"Draco?" Snape glanced down at the young man. "Is this true?"

He looked from Hermione to Snape and back again. Sure, teachers always claimed they could help, but he still had to sleep in the dormitory, and he still had to go to lessons, and he still had to go to Quidditch practise, and they'd get their revenge. "No," he said, closing his eyes. "They haven't been exactly nice, but it's not as bad as Granger makes out."

He had only meant to close his eyes and gather his strength, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to open them again. The quiet dark his pain was tugging him towards seemed a better option than opening his eyes and seeing the hurt on Hermione's face caused by his outright lie. He stopped fighting the darkness and abruptly became a dead weight on Snape's arm as he dove into unconsciousness.


	13. Chapter the Twelfth

**Chapter the Twelfth **

Voices erupted in Draco's consciousness as he struggled back to the land of the living. He found them distracting; he was having a hard enough time thinking without the added annoyance of other people intruding on him like that. Where was he? Why was he there? What had happened? Who was talking and why wouldn't they just shut up?

Hermione was interrupted in her account to Dumbledore by Draco's growl. The group gathered around the bed, including Hermione, Dumbledore, Snape and Madam Pomfrey. Aurora had put in an appearance earlier, to find out why yet again two students were skipping her lesson, but Madam Pomfrey had shooed her out on the basis that she was irrelevant to the situation.

Draco opened one eye. When he saw who was there, he grudgingly opened the other as well, and changed his mind about yelling for every on 'bugger off'. He tried to make some pertinent comment, but before he could think of one his mouth acted for him

"Huh? Whazza… Ow." Apparently his brain was still objecting to being conscious again, and had gone on strike. Draco couldn't blame it, being awake _hurt_.

"Quite, Mr Malfoy," Dumbledore smiled at him. "How are you feeling?"

"Muh. Ow."

"Professor Dumbledore, please," Madam Pomfrey said without much hope. She'd spent her life trying to eject the headmaster from sickbeds, and she knew that he'd only go when he was ready, and not before. Still, there was always a first time or everything. "He needs to rest. Now's not the time for an inquisition."

"Of course not," he soothed her.

Draco wondered if any had ever told the headmaster to 'bugger off'. If people kept talking he might give it a go. His head hurt like hell and he had to concentrate to remember to breathe. He didn't need that kind of distraction.

He settled on, "G'way. Ow."

"Professor Dumbledore," Madam Pomfrey pleaded, with an undertone of sternness that implied that if begging didn't work she'd pick Dumbledore up and _carry_ him out.

"Poppy, I just want to ask him one question," Dumbledore smiled as charmingly as he could. Madam Pomfrey folded her arms. "Just one, please?"

She gave an exasperated sigh and turned back to the painkilling potions Snape had provided, but hadn't bothered to label. She held it up to the light and glowered at the Potions master through it, who ignored her entirely.

"Draco, can you hear me?" Dumbledore sat down on the side of the bed. Draco's every instinct screamed at him to move away, that it was never good to be that close to a teacher, but apparently his body had gone on strike too.

"Ngh," Draco said by way of 'yes'. Dumbledore frowned and Draco gave an internal sigh. Great, he was actually going to have to put some concentration into this. "Yesss," he said carefully, enunciating very precisely. He was pleased with the result, though perhaps a bit more volume would have been advisable. Dumbledore had had to lean right over him to hear, and Draco was now subjected to a wonderful view up his nose.

"Good. Now, Miss Granger tells us you were attack by members of your house. Professor Snape says you denied this earlier, but Madam Pomfrey tells me that you have injuries you didn't have last time you were here. And that _was_ only a week ago. So – are you still paying attention? Still conscious? Good – can you tell us what happened to you?"

Draco stared up at him. He was suddenly glad that he couldn't move; he didn't have to look at Hermione. She'd done a lot for him recently, but he couldn't betray his fellow housemates for the sake of a Mudblood's feelings. He was related to half his house, dammit, and what was thicker than blood? _Well, sewage, for a start_, a treacherous part of his brain muttered. Draco was used to ignoring that part of his mind. It was the part that objected to his father's beatings and wondered if Mudbloods and Muggles really were inferior and asked irritating questions like 'how would you feel if someone said that to you?' and 'are you sure you're not just jealous of Potter?'

"Fell down stairs," Draco breathed. The lie came as easily as ever, but the irritating little voice forced him to turn his head to look at Hermione. Draco had expected horror or betrayal, but not apoplectic anger.

* * *

"He's lying!" Hermione almost shrieked. "He's scared they'll hurt him more if he tells!"

"Silence! You're being ridiculous," Snape snarled at her. "No one in my house would hurt another Slytherin."

"But-" Hermione began again.

"I fell down… the stairs," Draco croaked a little louder, before she could tell them about how he was being shut out by the rest of his house. "I didn't… say anything… because I thought I was… okay. Embarr…assed, too."

Dumbledore knew he was lying. One look into the elderly face told Draco that. He tensed, waiting for the onslaught. It never came. Dumbledore just sighed and gave him a disappointed look. It was the look Draco's mother used to wear when he did something that his father didn't agree with. It was worse than all the beating and shoutings put together. It said 'you really are a hopeless case then, I was a fool for thinking you were redeemable'.

"If you're sure, Mr Malfoy, I suppose we better leave you in peace before Poppy puts us under the Imperius Curse and orders us away."

Dumbledore put his hands on Hermione's shoulders and guided her gently out of the room, Snape following them. Draco caught sight of Hermione glaring at him as Madam Pomfrey closed the curtains around the bed. He relaxed onto the pillow and blamed the ache in his chest on the broken ribs.

"I bet Snape knows!" Hermione ranted to Ron and Harry. "I bet he's just covering up because he doesn't want his House to get a bad reputation, or because people might think he's a bad House Head. I mean, how could you miss it? Look at Draco, just look at him! There're practically footprints in his stomach!"

"Well..." Ron began.

"And that's another thing!" Hermione was off again. Apparently she had just paused for breath. "Draco _lied_. Why? Why would he lie? He can't like Crabbe and Goyle, so he can't be defending them. He can't. Why lie?"

"Perhaps…" Harry tried to interject.

"And Dumbledore just accepted it! I don't understand that. I'm sure he's got his reasons, but I could just tell he knew Draco was lying, and I think Draco could too."

"Hermione!" They both yelled together.

"What?"

"Just shut up for a second, will you?" Ron said. "Please!"

Hermione lapsed into a sulky silence.

"Look," Harry said desperately, "Hermione. I bet Dumbledore does know, but perhaps he just didn't think it was appropriate to talk about it in front of you. I mean, he knows you and Malfoy can't stand each other-" Ron made a grumbling comment, but Harry shot him a look and kept talking, "- so he probably didn't want you to know any more than you already do."

Hermione shook her head. "Come on, Harry, you can do better than that," she said, smiling despite herself. "This is about Draco lying, and he knows I know. He told me himself!"

Ron gave her an exasperated look. "This is Malfoy we're talking about. Why should it matter? Everyone knows the Slytherins are gits anyway. I bet he's been just as much of a bastard as they have."

Hermione couldn't find anything to say to this.

"See?" Ron said triumphantly. "Now come on, I need you to help me with my Potions essay."

"When you say help, you mean write most of it for you while you play chess with Harry, don't you?" Hermione said in mock irritation.

"No!" Ron objected. "We're going to play exploding snap."

Hermione wanted to tell Draco exactly what she thought of him and his lying. She tried to find the exact words to express how disappointed and angry she was with him. She searched for adjectives and adverbs, even going so far as to find a thesaurus to look new ones up in, to explain how badly she would hurt him if he didn't stop hurting himself like this. What could he hope to accomplish by lying and covering up for his friends like that?

Hermione wanted to tell him what she thought of him, but November slipped by and December sprung upon them with its tinsel and baubles and still Malfoy had yet to start attending lessons again. Anger turned to worry and disappointment to concern. Surely he hadn't been hurt that badly? Even if he did have a resistance to healing spells (which Hermione doubted; none of her research had suggested that Veela blood could cause that kind of problem, and Fleur had never seemed to suffer unduly during the tournament), he ought to have been out by now. She felt certain that there'd have been an announcement if he'd died, and Crabbe and Goyle, and who ever else was in that dormitory, would have been expelled.

"You look like you failed Arithmancy," Ginny commented one evening as they arranged the ivy over the fireplace. Hermione had decided not to burden the house elves with decorating, and as the term drew to a close decorating the common room had become quite popular with the Gryffindors. The common room was mostly empty of students at the moment, but their presence remained felt in the form of hundreds of clashing decorations all provided by well meaning parents and the bargain bin from the party shop in Hogsmeade.

"What do you mean?" Hermione picked at the leaves, praying they hadn't picked poisonous ivy. She and Ginny were standing on chairs to reach the top of the huge fireplace, trying to bring some kind of order to the mess of colours and designs scattered across it.

"Oh come on, it's getting so obvious. You're moping over Malfoy," Ginny chucked her a bauble. Hermione watched it sail past her shoulder, making no effort to catch it. It smashed on the floor into a thousand glittering shards.

"_Reparo, Accio_," Hermione murmured. "I'm not moping over him," she told Ginny as she attached the bauble to the end of the ivy. "I'm just getting a bit worried. The only time I can think of that any one spent so long in the infirmary was when I turned myself into cat-woman and Madam Pomfrey couldn't find a charm to turn me back."

"Maybe it's just to keep him out of the way," Ginny suggested. "If he's being bullied in the dormitories perhaps Dumbledore decided he'd be better off in the infirmary until they can find a solution."

"Expel the bullies, that's a solution," Hermione said bluntly. Years of being the smallest and easiest picking had left a lasting imprint on her mind. Most students from wizarding families didn't attend school before Hogwarts, but as a Muggle born she had gone through seven years of junior school, and she'd been bullied throughout all of them. She hoped that one day there's be a school reunion, and she could turn all those bullies into slugs. That'd teach them.

"Hermione? Hermione!"

"Huh?" Hermione wrenched herself out of the daydream.

"You were scaring me, I've never seen you smile like that," Ginny said seriously. "You're not going to do anything, well, stupid, are you? I know how you feel about Malfoy…"

"No, you don't," Hermione said. "Because I don't. He's so vulnerable and I just want to help him, but I still think he's an arrogant, prejudiced aristobrat. And I just don't understand why he'd lie to defend people who hate him."

"Maybe he's punishing himself," Ginny said quietly. She jumped off the chair she had been standing on and sat down. Hermione sensed that this was going to be an intensely personal revelation, and she moved to sit on the arm of her chair.

Ginny gave her a weak smile. "Those bullying him, well their fathers went to prison too, didn't they? I think he's feeling a bit guilty; he knows Crabbe and Goyle are angry with him because his father was the ringleader. He knows it's not his fault, but that doesn't stop the guilt. After… after the Chamber of Secrets ordeal I felt so _bad_. I knew it wasn't my fault, but that didn't stop me from feeling like it was. Everyone was creeping around me like I was so delicate and fragile, and it was sending me crazy. Everyone said they didn't blame me, but it felt like they did."

"What did you do?" Hermione asked, sliding an arm around the younger girl.

Ginny sighed and leant into Hermione. "Made a point of getting on everyone's nerves until they started yelling. I wanted people to yell at me. After spending all summer teasing Percy about Penelope and winding up Ron and 'accidentally' breaking some of the twins' experiments people stopped treating me like I was fragile. They started treating me normally again. The stupid thing is, they never understood that they'd been treating me differently in the first place."

Hermione wanted to say that Draco was different, that he wanted people to be nice, but something stopped her short. The lake. They had sat by the lake and he had wound her up until she yelled. He had made her angry with him, and encouraged her to confirm everything he thought about himself.

"So what do I do? Yell at him?" Hermione asked, half to herself.

"He needs to recognise that it's not his fault and he shouldn't be punished for it. I mean, his mother walked out on him. That's punishment enough." Ginny sighed. "He's screwed up. He always has been. I mean, his father's a Death Eater and his mother's an empty headed narcissist who took the money and ran. You can tell just from looking at his father that he believes in hitting his son. And he's grown up very sheltered. And he's an only child-"

"Hey! So am I," Hermione objected. "There's nothing wrong with that."

Ginny laughed. "There is if you've got parents like the Malfoys. Imagine – he's spent his childhood only being exposed to his them and the people they like."

"Ouch," Hermione agreed. "No wonder he's such a bastard."

"Who?" a voice interrupted behind them. Ginny twisted around to see Harry, nose and ears red from the cold. He had his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face. "Let me guess, we're talking about Malfoy."

"Who else?" Hermione grinned. She had to tread carefully here. The boys understood that she didn't like Malfoy, she just felt sorry for him, but then, they didn't know she'd kissed him in the library. Until recently she had been content to hate him, but as horror follow horror for him that hatred ebbed away to leave sympathy and maybe even a grudging respect.

"I can't believe he's still skipping classes," Harry said, sitting opposite the two girls. "Even with the Hippogriff scratch he only managed to get out of class for a week."

"Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let him stay in the hospital wing that long unless it was serious," Hermione said, dread settling in her chest. "He fainted, didn't he? Perhaps he's got a brain tumour or something. If he was hit in the head hard enough, like when he nose dived off of his broom, he could have developed a blood clot or something."

"That's a bit much, isn't it?" Harry asked incredulously. "I mean, I've landed head first several times, and I'm okay."

"That's up for debate, isn't it?" Ron grinned. "What are you doing in here? We have Quidditch practise, remember?"

"Oliver Wood never made us practise on the last week of term," Harry grumbled. "Look, Hermione, if you're so worried about Malfoy, why don't you just go up to the hospital wing and see him?"

Ron stared. "What? No! Why are you worrying about Malfoy?" He bent over Hermione. "What's wrong with you?"

Hermione laughed and pushed him away. "I just want to find out how he's getting away with staying out of lessons for so long. Ginny thought that perhaps Dumbledore was keeping him there until they got this bullying mess sorted out."

Ron frowned at her suspiciously. "Don't let him fool you into liking him," he warned. "He'll go out of his way to hurt you. Just because he's been through a lot doesn't make him a nice guy. You've got too much heart, Hermione."

It was a compliment, in a Ronnish kind of way, and Hermione smiled. They were just worried about her, that was all. Ron was startled when Hermione hugged him suddenly, giving him a peck on the cheek. She disappeared out of the portrait hole with a wave and a goodbye, but she didn't look back.

"You have to tell her," Ginny said, staring at her beetroot red brother. "She has no idea."

"Ginny's right, mate," Harry grinned. "Come on, how hard can it be? It's Hermione, for heaven's sake. You've been best friends for years"

"Exactly," Ron said morosely. "It's Hermione. We're friends. She doesn't think about me in that way."

"Well, girls are unpredictable. Cho never liked me in that way for ages," Harry said awkwardly. "Besides, maybe she really likes you too, but neither of you are ever going to work up the nerve to say anything to each other."

Ron gave him a scathing look. "Yeah, and maybe You-Know-who will start breeding fluffy little bunny rabbits and painting pictures of rainbows. What world are you living in, Harry? Hermione's more likely to fall for _Malfoy_ than me," he said in the tone of voice usually reserved for flying pigs.

Ginny, who had been about to say something to comfort her brother, closed her mouth quickly and stared into the fire. She'd love for Hermione and Ron to get together, but if she liked Malfoy more… Shoot. Why did relationships have to be so damn messy?


	14. Chapter the Thirteenth

**Chapter the Thirteenth **

Draco was finishing an essay when Hermione stuck her head through the curtains. She recognised it as the Potions essay she had had to do the previous week. He was fully dressed and sprawled across the covers with his feet on the pillows, a position Hermione recognised from when she did homework in bed. He had yet to notice her, so she took advantage of the opportunity to study him closely.

Physically, he seemed fine. If he could lie on his stomach it was reasonable to assume his ribs had healed and the bruising on his chest had gone down. His hair was a mess and in need of cutting, his clothes were badly creased and rumbled up to expose a good section of lower back. Hermione frowned. There were a few white and pink ridges of old scar tissue striping his back.

Draco signed his essay with a flourish and began to sit up. He almost fell off of the bed when he saw Hermione.

"What- how long have you been standing there?" he asked, eyes wide.

"Not long," Hermione smiled, and stepped through the curtains. "How are you?"

"Good. Great. Very very bored. Sit. Stay." He grinned and patted the bed next to him.

Hermione was a bit taken aback. She had anticipated many things, but a cheerful and pleased-to-see-her Draco was not one of them. He'd never been pleased to see her before. She couldn't even imagine it. He hated her. Oh, he'd kissed her, but he probably still hated her. After all, Hermione told herself, the only reason she didn't hate him was because she felt sorry for him, and he didn't have that justification. On the other hand, perhaps his hatred had abated because she was nice to him? It seemed just about reasonable. But still, his behaviour was slightly alarming, as was her own mental babbling.

He saw the baffled look on her face. "Also very lonely," he said a little more softly. "No one comes up here except Madam Pomfrey, to give me medicine, and Professor Snape, to give me work."

"So no one's come to visit you?" Hermione asked, feeling a little guilty.

"Who would want to?" Draco sighed. Hermione climbed onto the bed and sat cross-legged next to him. He let himself collapse backwards, hands tucked behind his head, knees bent, bare feet rucking up the covers. "So, what brought you here?"

"I came to see how you were."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "It took you five weeks. Honestly this time: why are you here?"

"Because I wanted to see how you were," Hermione repeated, a little irritated. "Why else would I be here?"

"I don't know," Draco replied with equal irritation. "Maybe Dumbledore sent you. Maybe he was worried that I was spending too much time alone. Maybe you came to gloat. Maybe it was a dare. How should I know?"

"Is it really that hard to believe that I wouldn't be just a little concerned that you've been up here for over a month? You should be fine by now, but you're still not back in lessons. Why?"

Draco tried to shrug, found he couldn't with his hands linked behind his head, and settled for muttering, "How should I know?"

"You mean no one's said anything?" Hermione frowned.

"No. What, you think I'm dying and they're too scared to tell me?" He grinned.

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione scolded vaguely. "I knew Dumbledore would see through your lie. They obviously don't want to put you back in the dormitory until they've worked out what to do about the bullying."

"So why can't I go to class, or eat meals with everyone else?" Draco cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Because they don't want to let on they know that something's up. They're keeping you here on the pretence you're still ill."

"Would that explain why I have to keep taking that foul tasting potion too?"

"You really have to take medicine?" Hermione faltered. Somehow that seemed like they were taking it too far, if it was all just pretence.

Draco gestured to a bottle on the bedside table. Hermione picked it up and studied it, smelling it and holding it up to the light. Faintly blue and smelling slightly of almonds. She'd seen Snape brewing it in class while they worked. There was nothing to imply it wasn't genuine.

"Have they… have they told you anything?" she asked quietly, staring at her hands in her lap.

"Nope. What, you don't think I really am dying, do you?" Draco sat up, looking worried.

"No, of course not," Hermione lied. They exchanged a look and Draco flopped back again.

"I mean, what would I be dying of?" he tried to convince himself. "I don't feel ill."

"Maybe it's just to make sure you're healing properly," Hermione suggested helplessly.

Draco stared at the ceiling. "Lie down," he murmured weakly. "Please, lie down next to me." Hermione gave him a surprised look, but did as he asked. He rolled onto his side to look at her, eyes trailing down her neat frame unabashedly. Hermione blushed, but didn't stop him. Truth be told, she was enjoying the attention. She was too close to Ron to see he did it too, but she had enough emotional distance from Draco to recognise that he found her attractive, and her ego inflated, just a little.

"Draco?" she murmured when she felt his eyes on her face again. They had been lying in silence for several minutes, she realised, but it had been a comfortable silence.

"What's going on?" he asked plaintively, not expecting her to know the answer. "I want to go back to class. I want to eat in the hall. I want to sleep in my own bed. I can look after myself."

"No, you can't," Hermione corrected him gently. "You're punishing yourself," she went out on a limb, going by what Ginny had suggested. "You've got it into your head that it's all your fault, and you're letting those bastards hurt you, because you haven't got the guts to do it yourself."

That hadn't come out right.

"I mean-" Hermione backtracked quickly, but Draco placed his hand over her mouth.

"I'm not punishing myself. I'm not some sap who blames himself for everything like Potter. If anything, I refuse to take the blame when something is my fault. You ought to know that by know. I'm a self-serving creep."

Hermione opened her mouth, and closed it again.

"Okay, that was the bit where I pause and you contradict me. But oh well…" He smirked at her. "I'm not letting people beat me up. God knows I fight back." he saw the look on Hermione's face. "I've been learning to defend myself for years," he said coolly. "Just because I'm not the tallest or the broadest doesn't mean I can't stand up for myself. You want to know why I haven't asked for help? Pride. Arrogance. I don't need help."

"But you do! You're the smallest guy in Slytherin. They're grinding you into Draco Dust!"

"Thank you. My ego is all better now."

"Sarcasm is the last resort of the weak minded, and the first of fools."

Draco opened his mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say. He glowered at her. "Every single comeback I can think of to that involves sarcasm."

Hermione laughed.

"Except this one," he added, and kissed her.

Hermione's brain froze. Damn, he was good at this. Not just kissing her, but surprising her with it. For someone who couldn't come up with a decent insult if he tried, he knew some pretty good 'lines'. Hermione responded helplessly, letting him draw her closer to him so that their bodies were pressed together. He hooked his leg over hers and wrapped his arms tightly around her. She stared into his grey eyes, which creased at the edges in a mouthless smile.

Abruptly, she pushed him away. She pushed a little harder than she meant to and jerked backwards. With a resounding thud she fell off the bed, and found herself with her back on the floor and her legs still trapped between Draco's. He moved to release her and leant over the side of the bed, eyes hurt and confused. Hermione closed her eyes and tilted her head back; opening them when she was certain she'd only be able to see the ceiling.

She found herself staring straight up Snape's nose.

Ron moped round the common room, trying to find a distraction. He'd seen the look on Ginny's face when Hermione had kissed him. It had never occurred to him that she didn't know either. Was he really playing it that close to his chest? Maybe Hermione wasn't ignoring his feeling because she didn't want to see them; maybe she really couldn't see them.

* * *

Hermione wasn't back yet. Harry had stayed behind after Quidditch practise to talk to Alicia Spinnet, who had taken over being captain of the Quidditch team when Angelina left. They'd had to find new beaters and a new chaser, and there was still a question over whether it was worth keeping the temps from Umbridge's reign. Ron wasn't that interested – he didn't have a lot of experience playing with the old or new team yet.

He frowned at his watch. Hermione had gone to speak to Malfoy over an hour ago. What on earth could she have to say that would take an hour? His gut clenched. For all his joking, part of him was getting very concerned that there was something going on between Hermione and Malfoy. No one knew her like he did, no one watched her and listened to her and studied her like he did. He didn't like the fact that she was wasting her time being worried about Malfoy, but he could accept that it was part of her personality. He knew she hated Malfoy, she always had done, but recently he could feel that hatred slipping away. If she started to like the bastard, how could he compete?

That thought made up his mind. He went into the dormitory and, checking he was alone, opened Harry's case at the foot of his bed. He removed a swathe of shimmering material and slipped it over his head. Checking his lack of appearance in the mirror, Ron crept downstairs again, covered by the invisibility cloak.

He felt bad, spying on Hermione, but he tried to convince himself he wasn't spying on her at all, just Malfoy. He was spying on Malfoy because he was concerned for his friend. Somehow he just knew that if Hermione made him explain it to her, she wouldn't find his reasoning quite so convincing. Therefore, it was best if she didn't know either.

Malfoy had money, looks, charm, power, and a newfound vulnerability that he had no qualms about using to garner Hermione's sympathy. What did Ron have? Five years of tempestuous friendship and a family that liked her. He didn't for a moment believe that Hermione was shallow enough to chose Malfoy on the basis that he had more money than Ron, but if she forgot how cruel he had been to her, as she seemed to be, then that oh-so-practical side of her might influence her decision, just a bit.

Ron sighed. If Hermione didn't even realise there was a choice, he might as well kiss his teenage dreams of love goodbye. But the mere idea of telling her made him break out in a nervous sweat, even when he had no intention of doing it. What if he ruined their friendship? There was nothing to say she felt the same way about him, and then he'd have to live with that kind smile and heartfelt apology and that immortal phrase "I hope we can still be friends". Maybe a good time to tell her would be the last day of their last year, when, if she said no, he'd never have to see her again.

But Malfoy obviously had no intention of waiting that long. Ron's jealous mind chose to overlook Malfoy's long held prejudices against Mudbloods and only saw that he was monopolising Hermione's sympathy and attention. He could only think of one reason a person might do that, the reason he might do it, and a bitter resolve formed in him to do whatever it took to stop Hermione being seduced by that arrogant bastard.

Unlike Hermione, who had dawdled on her way to the hospital wing, stopping to talk to friends and dropping briefly into the library to check Draco wasn't there, Ron moved swiftly through the hall and corridors. He almost ran headlong into Filch, but the only thing the old janitor registered was a sharp breeze as Ron skidded out of the way just in time. After that he forced himself to slow down. Mrs Norris spat at him as he kept moving through the corridors, and it took all of his self control not to kick the cat, an ambition he and all of his brothers had shared for many years now.

Ron saw Snape striding towards the hospital wing, arms full of paper and books. Ron swallowed a snicker. Even Malfoy couldn't get out of work, no matter how much he played up his injuries. Ron slipped through the door after him, careful not to actually touch the potions master.

Ron hovered while Snape stopped to talk to Madam Pomfrey, not sure which bed Malfoy would be in.

"I don't know if this is such a good idea, Severus," Madam Pomfrey was saying. "Why are you and Dumbledore so adamant that we don't tell him?"

"He'd be better off not worrying," Snape replied shortly.

"Are you sure?"

"Perfectly so."

"But what about the danger? If the situation gets any worse… I don't want to have to deal with the death of a student."

"I have known Malfoy for a long time now, Poppy. Rest assured that I have his best interests at heart. Continue to administer the potions I give you until the situation improves, which I believe will be soon."

Ron's jaw dropped. Malfoy was dying? What on earth was he dying of? Unless… he'd probably misinterpreted. There must be plenty of things that Dumbledore would want to hide from Malfoy, though why any would require the administration of a potion was beyond Ron. He was lost in thought as Snape began to walk away, and coming to himself with a jerk he hurried after the greasy professor.

Ron followed him through the infirmary to what turned out to be the only occupied bed, which had the curtains drawn around it. There was an odd sound issuing from behind the curtains that made Ron's heart drop. A sort of muffled moaning that sounded a bit, well, wet. It stopped suddenly and he could hear someone panting. There was a thump and Snape pushed the curtain open, allowing Ron a clear view into the room. Hermione looked back, and Ron saw her guilt written across her face.The three (four) people around the bed stared at each other.

Hermione could feel herself flushing scarlet, and tried to fight it. She hadn't done anything wrong! If any one had, it was Draco. Though she hadn't exactly tried to stop him…

Draco stared at his head of house, stomach churning. He didn't know which was worse: being caught kissing Hermione, or the fact he'd been kissing Hermione in the first place. She was a Gryffindor and a Mudblood, and so far beneath him it didn't bear contemplating. She was good company, and passably attractive, but he had his pride, and his standards, and Snape knew that. Every Slytherin knew that, every Slytherin had the same standards and pride.

Snape looked from one to the other. While there _had_ been several possible explanations for the situation, it was obvious from their faces what had been going on. He wondered whether Hermione had fallen off the bed in the heat of passion or whether she'd been pushed. The self-disgust creeping across Draco's face seemed to indicate the latter. Snape knew his student well enough to wonder why they'd even been kissing in the first place. If that was all they had been doing.

"Miss Granger, I believe visiting hours are long over," he said coldly. He had to admit defeat; no matter what rules he invoked there was nothing to charge either teen with, especially without conclusion evidence of their activities. Perhaps he could get away with docking points for being in the hospital wing after hours?

"I… I'm sorry," Hermione stuttered, leaping to her feet. "I was just about to leave. My watch must be a little slow, I didn't realise it was eight o'clock already."

"That is no excuse-" Snape began, but he was cut off by the clock on Madam Pomfrey's desk striking eight. Before he could say another word Hermione scurried away. He was looking at Draco when she stumbled suddenly, as though she had just brushed against an invisible wall. He didn't see the look of horror on her face as she stared into an area of empty space. He didn't realise that as he turned to follow her he stepped on the edge of the invisibility cloak, and as Ron shrank back to avoid touching him there was a sickeningly soft ripping sound.

Malfoy found himself staring at Ron, as Snape and Hermione disappeared, neither looking back. Ron looked furious, face red, teeth gritted, eyes wide, glowering at the blond boy in the bed. Malfoy returned it with a look of icy superiority.

"I didn't know the Gryffindors were into casual theft," Malfoy drawled before Ron could find the words to express his rage. "Where on earth did _you_ get an invisibility cloak, Weasley? Don't tell me you sold your own mother, just to spy on your friends."

"Harry le-" Ron's jaw snapped shut.

"It's Potter's?" Draco asked, utterly incredulous. "Harry Potter has an invisibility cloak? No. No…"

Ron frowned at him. "Are you thinking, 'It's not fair', by any chance?" he asked shrewdly. Malfoy glowered at him.

"How did Potter get hold of a cloak like that? And what's he going to say when he finds out you stole it and ripped it?"

Ron stared down, aghast, at the huge gash in the material. Normally he would have asked Hermione to sew it up, but she was the last person he could tell about this. What would Harry say if he knew Ron had taken his father's cloak without permission, and ruined it?

"I'll make you a deal," Ron said, head snapping up.

"What on earth could you have that I want?" Malfoy sneered, not bothering to disguise his scorn. Of course, he never did, but this situation didn't even merit sarcasm.

"I won't tell Harry what I saw," Ron said, full of false bravado. Why should Harry care what Hermione and Malfoy did in their spare time? _He_ was the one who had just had his heart ripped out.

Malfoy wasn't buying it. "Sure, he hates me," he smirked, "but Hermione isn't that whipped. She won't let either of you interfere."

"I'll tell the other Slytherins," Ron said, eyes bright with malice.

"They don't give a damn any more. They all loathe me, and they already thought I'd sunk low enough to kiss a mudblood long before I did. You'll have to do better than that, Weasley. Now, why shouldn't I tell Hermione you were spying on me, and Potter that you stole and broke his precious cloak?" Malfoy paused for a second, thinking. "It wasn't another gift from that axe-murderer, is it?"

"No, it wasn't from Sirius. And he didn't kill Harry's parents, or that whole street of Muggles," Ron growled, getting increasingly angry. "And he's dead, and it's your father's fault, and he was good man, unlike your father and unlike you!"

Malfoy gave him a dispassionate look. Ron had his fists clenched at his sides, face red with rage, whole body shaking with the repressed urge to throttle the boy on the bed. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that Malfoy was going to die soon.

Taking a guiltily smug pleasure in the knowledge that he was about to destroy the life of someone he hated, Ron relax, forcing himself to unclench his fists and calm down. A malicious smile curled slowly across his face, and he slunk towards Malfoy's bed. Was this how Draco felt, every time he made one of those deeply scathing comments, designed to undermine a person's confidence? Those comments could reduce a well-adjusted, emotionally stable person to tears and would mean that in twenty years time they'd be packing boxes behind The Three Broomsticks, because they didn't believe they could ever be anything other than what Malfoy has suggested.

Malfoy recognised the look. Something very, very bad was about to happen.

"You don't really care about Hermione, do you?" Ron purred, sitting on the side of the bed. "She's just the only person who can stand to be around you. She's Muggleborn, you'd drop her in a second, if someone 'better' came along, wouldn't you?" Ron chuckled. "I suppose it's just as well. Normally I'd warn you against hurting her, but I don't think that's going to be an issue."

Malfoy tired to move away, but the blankets were tangled around his legs. "Oh shut it, Weasley," he said with only a hint of his normal self-confidence. "You can't fool me with that crap. You're just trying to scare me. Trust me, nothing you can say will change what happened, or stop me from going to Hermione and telling her that you were spying on her."

"It doesn't matter," Ron laughed. He felt so light headed. "You may not even get the chance to, I don't know! You're not a threat to my chances with Hermione."

"Oh, get real," Malfoy scoffed. "I wouldn't do anything serious with that mudblood." He shot a look at Ron, who was still smiling pleasantly. Why wasn't Ron punching his lights out? Mudblood, he'd called Hermione a mudblood. What was going on here? "Though she'd wait forever for a chance with me, and not even give you a glance, like most girls. Don't you get tired of being the-"

"You're dying."

"No I'm not! I'm fine!" Malfoy protested in panicked gasps. "Perfectly healthy!"

"So why are you still here? Why are you taking those potions? Why is Madam Pomfrey worried she'll have to deal with the death of a student?"

"Could have been anyone she was talking about!" Malfoy yelped, normally pale face yellow and waxy. "Not necessarily me!"

"You're the only one here, Malfoy, and given the conversation…" Ron picked up one of Malfoy's hands and patted it gently, like he might an ailing and elderly relative. "Don't worry, I'm sure your mother left enough money to afford some kind of burial, even if they have to dump you in the lake." With a sympathetic smile, Ron stood up and picked up the invisibility cloak, wrapping it around himself. "Goodbye," he said, with a definite finality. And then he was gone. The curtains flapped, briefly.

Originally, Ron had planned to stick around and gloat as Malfoy sat and worried about dying. He moved the curtains to give the impression he had gone, and then turned back to look at the figure on the bed. Malfoy looked sickly, sweat dripping off his forehead. He drew his knees up to his chest and started rocking back and forth. After a short while, he began to cry.

Ron stared at him. The light-headedness was replaced with a leaden weight in his stomach, and bile at the back of his throat. He stumbled out of the small room and fled from the hospital wing, not caring who saw his legs through the tear in the cloak, not caring who head his thudding footsteps. He made it to a bathroom just in time, as his stomach decided to get rid of some of its contents to make more room for the lead weight. Leaning with his head against the cool porcelain of the toilet, Ron wondered how any one could cope with this kind of guilt.

If Malfoy could be so cruel so often, then he couldn't feel this kind of guilt. Perhaps death was a kinder alternative than making someone live without such powerful emotions. Perhaps death was simply a _safer_ alternative than letting someone like him loose upon the world.


	15. Chapter the Fourteenth

**Chapter the Fourteenth **

_Not. Yet. Seventeen. _When he'd been speaking to Hermione, he'd been nervous. They'd joked and denied and created excuses, but he'd been nervous nevertheless. But some part of him had been completely sure that he was fine, because it couldn't possibly happen to him.

Everyone has that bubble, which protects them and their family from harm. No one can die, no one can be seriously ill, no one suffers a terrible injury… it just doesn't happen to people you know. It's what happens to orphans in Africa and rail passengers in Asia and unfortunate tourists in the Pacific. Always so distant, so hard to care, no matter how much sympathy you felt for the bereaved. And then it happens to you, and the bubble bursts.

Draco's bubble had burst with the arrest of his father, shattering the comfortably sheltered little world he'd been brought up in. When it had just been speculation over the potion he'd been able to keep it distant, to keep it from touching him. He hadn't let himself believe in the possibility. But now he couldn't keep it at arms length any longer, and with no bubble to protect him there's was nothing left but the stark, painful truth.

_Not. Yet. Seventeen._ The words ran round and round in his head. It all seemed monstrously unfair. He wasn't even seventeen. He couldn't even legally apparate. How could he be dying so young? Why was he dying? It was so unfair!

_Not. Yet. Seventeen. _He stared at his feet, bare and pale and pedicured. He stared at them over his knees, chin resting on his legs, arms wrapped tightly around them. His feet shimmered and wavered as the tears began to fall. He'd never cried in front of his father, but whenever he was denied something he would go to his mother and switch on the waterworks, and he'd get whatever it was he had been hankering after. Always, always she had caved, always it had worked. Except once. When the tears were real, and he was begging not for what he wanted, but what he needed, she had turned her back and left him.

_Not. Yet. Seventeen._ He'd never been in love. He'd never had sex. He'd never trusted someone with his life. Sometimes he wondered if he'd ever trusted someone, full stop. If he had, he'd had that trust betrayed. He'd never eaten sushi, which seemed an odd thing to worry about, but it hit him just as hard as everything else. He'd never visited South America. He'd never prepared a meal for someone else. He'd never Apparated. He'd never owned a furry hat.

Once he'd started, he couldn't stop. So many things he'd never done, or had the opportunity to do. How long did he have left? He didn't know. No one would tell him anything. When he had asked about the potion, Snape had just frowned and said nothing. Madam Pomfrey had looked strained and told him it was nothing to worry about.

_Not. Yet. Seventeen._

_Dying._

* * *

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Ron!" Ginny stared at him. "Malfoy, dying? Hermione said he looked perfectly healthy."

"I overheard Snape and Madam Pomfrey," Ron said in a wretched voice. "They don't want to tell him because it will upset him, but Madam Pomfrey is scared he's going to die."

"Are you sure? Did they say anything else?" Ginny looked surprised. "I mean…what on earth is killing him?"

"I don't know! I mean, he's probably not dying right this very second, but the implication was that without this potion he'd be in serious danger." Ron picked at the fraying rip in the invisibility cloak, which was pooled in his lap. Ginny batted his hand away.

"Ron, I know, I mean, I understand that you're worried, but you seem, well - and please don't take this the wrong way – but aren't you a bit too worried? This is Malfoy. I know you wouldn't be jubilant if he died, if anyone died, but I'm a bit surprised that you're so upset about all this." Ginny couldn't look her brother in the eye.

"I told him," Ron said.

Ginny's head snapped up and she levelled her gaze on him. "You. Did. What?"

"I told him. I told him he was dying then I put on the cloak and made him think I had left and he started crying, dammit. Crying." Ron pushed the invisibility cloak away. "Can you fix that, Gin? I can't give the cloak back to Harry with a bloody great hole in it."

"But it's okay to leave bloody great holes in Malfoy?" Ginny near shrieked. "I can't believe you!"

"Neither can I," Ron sighed. "It just, oh god, I feel sick again. I made him cry. I hate him, really loathe him, and I always thought it would be great to get my own back and hurt him like he hurt me, and you, and Harry and Hermione. But no. He cries, suddenly I hate myself."

Ginny gave him a dubious look. "You're not just a little bit pleased that you hurt him? I mean, everyone knows you like Hermione-"

"-except Hermione-"

"Well, yes."

"And Malfoy."

"Probably."

"And hopefully Snape."

"Are you trying to avoid answering my question?" Ginny frowned at her brother.

Ron sighed. "Yes, fine, I was happy. Just for a bit, I was happy. But it was going too far. How can I be one of the good guys if my actions are worse than _his_? Even Malfoy never laughed at a dying man." He stared mournfully at the invisibility cloak. "Something happened. Just before Snape and I walked in, something happened. Hermione had fallen off the bed, and, well, I think she did that on purpose. So now I'm worried Malfoy was trying to force her to do something, and she's not coming to us, and I can't ask her about it…"

"He's not trying to force her," Ginny said quietly.

Ron's head snapped up. "What do you know?" he growled.

"This... they… it's not the first time they've kissed, if that is what they were doing," Ginny said miserably. "Hermione told me, after the first time. I think Malfoy really likes her, and I didn't tell you because I know you like her."

Ron swallowed his rage. "Does Hermione like Malfoy?" he asked, grinding out each word between clenched teeth.

"No. Not as a person, anyway. She feels sorry for him, mostly. Everything she's told you is true: she still thinks he's a complete git. She just feels sorry for him, and he's using that." Ginny fished out a needle and thread and began to sew up the rip in the invisibility cloak, unable to meet Ron's eyes. "I think she does find him attractive," she finished regretfully.

Ron stared at his little sister. Every dream and fantasy he had ever had was wrenched from under his feet. If he didn't act immediately Malfoy would have Hermione and destroy her. He harboured no illusions about Malfoy's intentions. Maybe the Slytherin did care for her, in his own way. He needed her, and wanted her, obviously, but Ron knew as well as Malfoy that the blond boy could never love her. She was Muggleborn. All Ron could do was pray that Hermione could make that distinction as well.

"What do I do?" he asked his sister. "I can't tell her I was there, and if I can't back up what I say she'll think I'm just making unfounded accusations and we'll have yet another argument. I really don't want to fall out with her now."

Ginny sighed. "Wait and see what's going on with Malfoy," she suggested. "It's all I can think of right now. And you might want to start dropping hints to Hermione about how you feel."

"Hints?" Ron gaped at her. "What do you think I've been doing? If the hints I dropped were any bigger she'd be crushed beneath them! What do you want me to do, wander around in my 'I love Hermione Granger robes'?"

Ginny giggled. "I could make you some, if you like," she smiled, holding up the darned cloak so Ron could admire her handiwork. "Though I was thinking more along the lines of obviously romantic Christmas gifts and leaving flowers on her bed without a label on."

"Christmas? Oh bollocks! I'd forgotten that was so soon!" Ron grabbed his wallet and shook out its contents onto the bed. He stared at the slim pickings. "So, home made presents it is. I'll be spending all holidays trying to make things without you lot peering over my shoulder."

Ginny smiled. "Look at it this way: at least Malfoy will be out of our hair for several weeks over Christmas. Hermione will be courted by you alone."

Ron grinned. "Hell yeah."

* * *

Draco stared at the ceiling above his bed. Christmas was soon. He might go home. He could, if he wanted to. Madam Pomfrey had advised against it, but she hadn't given him a reason. He hadn't noticed how few reasons he was being given for anything until Hermione's visit. She had made him confront a lot of question, and Weasley had made him face some unpleasant answers.

It wasn't just that he was dying. It was his list of everything he hadn't done. He'd written it down, in a fit of depression, and it lay there on the stark parchment.

Never been in love

Never had sex

Never trusted someone with his life

Never eaten sushi

Never visited South America

Never prepared a meal for someone else

Never Apparated

Never owned a furry hat

Never ridden in a Muggle aeroplane

Never owned a tortoise

Never kissed another guy

Never won a fair fight

… And so it went on. Most he'd never get to do. Some he'd never wanted to do, not until he'd found out he'd never get the chance, and even then he still had no intention of doing several of the things on his list. But even when he just included all the things he had either wanted or expected to do during his life, it was still a very long list. But some things, well, he still had the chance to do them, if he acted fast. It all came down to a handful of decision he realised he'd made a long time ago. He'd just been waiting for the right moment ever since then. But Malfoys didn't wait for the right moment, they created the right moment, as and when it pleased them, not fate.

With slow deliberation, Draco Malfoy crossed off the first item.


	16. Chapter the Fifteenth

**Chapter the Fifteenth **

Term was ending, and Draco Malfoy was sitting in the hospital wing packing his things. He didn't care what Madam Pomfrey said, he was going home. Until some member of staff treated him like an adult and told him what was going on, he was going to act like he didn't know there was any legitimate reason for him to stay.

Madam Pomfrey bustled in, followed by Professor Dumbledore. Draco froze, in the middle of folding up his underwear. Part of him was deeply embarrassed, but another part merely assumed that it was Dumbledore's place to be embarrassed, not his. He continued to fold after nodding his acknowledgement of their presence.

"Mister Malfoy, I suggest you pause for a moment," Dumbledore placed his hands on the lid of the suitcase. "I don't know about you, by I find unpacking even more dull than packing, especially if there aren't any souvenirs or the risk of finding class A drugs smuggled into the case while you weren't looking," he smiled. Draco looked blank. "You're not going anywhere," Dumbledore said, a little more sharply. "Please, sit down." He closed the case, narrowly missing Draco's fingers.

Draco sat on the bed. "No one has given me a reason to stay," he pointed out. "Every time I ask questions, no one answers them. You think I have no idea what's going on."

"Aside from the fact you're still legally a child and can't be allowed to live along like that, I have more 'personal' reasons for keeping you here."

Draco frowned. "No one did anything over the summer," he said accusingly. "I'm an underaged wizard. If it's illegal for me to be without an adult for so long, why didn't anyone do something?"

Draco wasn't happy, he realised, that he'd been alone. He had convinced himself he was, but if someone had come in and started running his life for him, he wouldn't have put up more than a token protest. He wanted someone to tell him what to do. He understood, now, why adults were always telling kids that they didn't want to grow up, now matter what the children themselves thought.

"You're mother flaunted an ancient law about the Malfoy lineage. The head of the Malfoy family takes over as soon as his predecessor is dead, imprisoned, or wearing a tutu." Draco remembered that rule well. He'd spent months quizzing the portraits to find out which one of them had taken up ballet. There are been a lot of shifty looks and exchanged glances. "And this patriarch can be any age, and is exempt from the rules applying to Underage wizards. I think originally it was just to allow you to do magic, but when Ministry tried to force her to take you with her when she left Narcissa waved the documents in their collective face."

Draco's eyes darkened. He'd given up questioning his mother's reasons for leaving, but some part of him still cried 'why' each time he thought about it. She really hadn't wanted him.

"So you can't make me stay," he said, trying to sound defiant. He had a sinking suspicion he sounded more regretful than anything else.

Dumbledore looked into Draco's grey eyes and sighed. The boy wanted him to reject that, to tell him he had to stay at Hogwarts. Give him a reason and he'd stay, he wanted to, he just didn't want to want to.

"No, but if you want to survive you really ought to," Dumbledore told him solemnly. "I mentioned I had a personal reason for you to stay. That reason is my desire to see you live."

"I knew it," Draco said dully. "I _am_ dying. You could have just _said_," he added bitterly. He tried not to be surprised that Dumbledore actually did want him alive. Maybe Hermione was right about the old man.

Dumbledore looked astonished. "Where on earth did you get that idea? You're in perfect health."

Well, Hermione might be right to a _certain_ extent. Draco wasn't dissuaded from his idea that Dumbledore was senile and possibly insane. He had to be to think playing dumb like that would honestly convince him he wasn't dying? He glowered at the venerable head master.

"Stop it. Just stop it!" Draco snapped. "Stop lying to me, stop evading my questions! Wea- I overheard, okay? Madam Pomfrey doesn't want a dead student on her hands. You're keeping me here and you're making me drink this potion; did you think I wouldn't figure it out?" He had started to shout. "Why couldn't you just tell me? It's all so obvious! Every time I ask you look confused or pretend you don't know what I'm on about! I'm sick of it!"

"You're not dying," Dumbledore reiterated. "Where did you get that idea?"

"The potions, the enforced convalescence, the fact that I heard people saying it!" Draco cried.

"You're not dying," Dumbledore repeated again, the hint of irritation creeping into his voice. "You're father has escaped from Azkaban."

"…Oh." Draco managed.

"Indeed. No one's quite sure how he did it yet, but only one guard, the one who brought him food, was killed. Of course, there aren't dementors at Azkaban anymore," Dumbledore sighed, "and no one's quite used to that yet."

Draco's jaw dropped. "So, I'm fine?" he asked in a small voice.

"Perfectly so, Mister Malfoy," Dumbledore smiled warmly at him. "We just want to make sure you stay that way. As long as you're here we know that you are safe. Your father can not easily access these grounds, though it's probably best if you stay close to the castle anyway."

"Not dying," Draco repeated. He stared at his feet for a few moments, trying to put himself back together. In the past few days everything had done an abrupt about turn not once, but twice. He'd been fine, then he'd been dying, then it turned out he was fine after all, if in mortal danger. He couldn't quite wrap his head around the source of the mortal danger yet. Everything that he'd been told had changed, but everything he had thought couldn't be reversed so easily.

"The media don't know yet," Dumbledore said sternly. "Keep this to yourself, understand?" Draco swallowed and nodded. The headmaster could be frightening when he chose to be. _Though who am I supposed to tell anyway? _he thought bitterly.

"So, I suppose I better unpack?" Draco stood up and started to reach for his case. One hand fumbled the list he had written earlier from his pocket.

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of keeping you up here over Christmas," Dumbledore beamed. "No, you're staying in the Gryffindor common room."

Draco sat down again. "Nnngh…" He began to shred the parchment, or tried to. Parchment never shredded quite as easily as paper, especially the thick expensive stuff embossed with the Malfoy header. He screwed it up and tossed it back and forth from hand to hand.

"Due to the potential of war, the ministry has cut our budget. Since so few students are staying over Christmas we're keeping you all in a single house. Gryffindor happens to be easiest to heat due to its position over several other rooms that will remain heated over the winter, while most of the other common rooms and dormitories are more detached from the main part of the school. In addition, more Gryffindors are staying than any other house."

"Let me guess, Potter and the Weasleys," Draco said snidely.

"And Miss Granger," Dumbledore added.

Draco smiled. Perhaps staying in the Gryffindor common room wouldn't be so bad after all.

The look in Dumbledore's eye suggested he knew why Draco was smiling.

* * *

It was the last day of term, and as Professor McGonagall stepped through the portrait Neville barrelled past her, half an hour late for the last train as it was, tossing apologies over his shoulder. McGonagall hoped his grandmother would be willing to collect him. He didn't live too far away, not like some of the others. If Harry, for example, had to rely on being dropped off and picked up he'd never have made it to Hogwarts. The Dursleys were hardly likely to have been willing to make the full day's drive, even if it meant getting rid of him for the better part of a year. And they wouldn't have found Hogwarts anyway, not in a Muggle vehicle.

McGonagall felt for the boy, she really did. To lose so many people so close to him, and to grow up as he had. She was worried about how well he appeared to be coping this year. His temper had been shorter and his moods darker, but McGonagall suspected that they were just the dark clouds visible before the storm really broke. She strode and stood, stiffbacked, in the centre of the room. She knew her news was hardly going to be received with pleasure. Better break it to them slowly.

"Has everyone who isn't staying left?" she asked, looking around the room.

"Neville was the last," Harry told her.

"Good," she said dryly. "Though I wish it weren't my student who was last to leave. The other houses are already empty."

"Empty?" Ron asked. "You mean only we're staying this year?"

"Not quite." McGonagall sighed. "Thanks to the ministry, all of the remaining students will have to stay in one house."

"Who's staying?" Hermione asked. Ron shot her a pained look. They both knew who almost certainly would be staying. It wasn't as though he had a family to go home to.

"There are no Hufflepuffs, but you will have three Ravenclaw guests and one Slytherin," they were informed.

"Draco Malfoy," Harry, surprisingly, guessed aloud.

McGonagall nodded tersely, watching for their reactions. Ginny looked resigned and shot worried looks at her brother. Harry was angry, obviously, but he too was looking at Ron. Hermione looked very carefully blank, though McGonagall thought she might be a little nervous. She was very studiously not looking at anyone.

Ron was staring at Professor McGonagall in open-mouthed horror. "No!" he groaned. "No way."

"I hope this isn't _prejudiced_ inter-house rivalry," she scolded. "That is frowned upon by the school."

"We don't mind Ravenclaws or the Hufflepuffs," Harry said hastily, "it's just, well _Slytherin_?"

The look on Professor McGonagall's face implied she agreed, but she couldn't say it out loud. "It's only one student," she reassured them.

"It's Malfoy!" Ron wailed.

"They're staying here," Harry said, aghast, "in our dormitories?"

"In_ your _dormitory," McGonagall said sharply. "Really, you must make an effort to get along."

"But he'll kill us! Or we'll kill him!" Harry spluttered, not thinking about what he was saying.

"I sincerely hope not," McGonagall said frostily. "This is a chance for Gryffindor to display its generous and welcoming nature. I hope you make all of our guests from the other houses welcome."

"'Generous and welcoming'?" Ginny whispered. "If we were that we'd all be in Hufflepuff."

"And if we were in Hufflepuff we'd be made to stay here, with them, anyway!" Harry hissed back.

"No one from Hufflepuff is staying," McGonagall reminded them loudly, making it perfectly clear that she had heard every word Ginny and Harry had exchanged. "Very few students are staying this winter, even fewer than usual."

"Surely, with Voldemort free, they'd be safer at Hogwarts than at home," Hermione pointed out. She was sitting by the fire with a book on her lap.

McGonagall's lips thinned when she heard Hermione use You-Know-Who's 'real' name. "That is up to the parents," she pointed out, her exasperated tone indicating that she agreed with Hermione. "The most recent news is that Voldemort is in America. None of the wizarding families moved there, so there is very little wizarding blood. He knows this; he knows we have no one to contact to hunt him down there. It is very rare for a witch or wizard to be born into a family that has no history of wizard blood whatsoever. In fact, if you look at every ancestor until you reach, for example, the time of the Founders, you'll find that every witch or wizard today has at least one magically inclined ancestor from an established wizarding family."

McGonagall frowned suddenly. She'd told the children rather more than she had intended too about Voldemort's activities. They were all members of the Order of the Phoenix, but they were also all still children. She didn't approve of Dumbledore's decision to tell Harry of the prophecy, but that was up to him. She supposed that knowing Voldemort was half a world away counted as reassuring, but she still felt uncomfortable revealing anything to the more junior members of the Order of the Phoenix without prior approval. _Oh well_, she sighed internally, _they always seem to find out anyway. _

"I hope you will all co-operate and share the Christmas spirit with our guests, she said firmly. "I will return to speak to all of you this evening, once your guests have settled in."

As she left she found Draco Malfoy, Terry Boot, Cho Chang and Orla Quirke all waiting outside of the portrait hole with their things.

"The password is 'Holly and Ivy'," she told them, "I hope my students make you welcome." And she left them to it.

"I feel almost sorry for you," Terry commented to Draco. "They hardly sounded pleased to have you staying, did they?"

"I'm hardly pleased to be staying here," he sneered, staring contemptuously through the hole. "I'd even stay in _your_ dormitories rather than here."

"Oh, thanks," Cho snapped sarcastically. "Come on. I'm not standing out here all night."

When Cho climbed through the portrait hole, Harry went red. When Draco arrived, Ron turned beetroot, though for an entirely different reason.


	17. Chapter the Sixteenth

**Chapter the Sixteenth **

Christmas morning dawned. Traditionally, Christmas dawns cool and crisp and clear, usually with snow on the ground and a pale blue sky. In fiction, it always dawns like that. The kind of morning that makes you _want_ to get up, as opposed to snuggling further into the bedcovers and trying to reach your stocking without exposing any part of your body to the cold damp air.

Draco stared out of the boys' dormitory window in a classically tragic pose. He suited classic poses, like the Greco-roman statues that adorned his family's grounds. It was a tragic pose because it was one of the most miserable mornings he'd ever seen. It was drizzling sleet, not heavy enough to warrant an umbrella; a cold sharp rain that crept into your bones no matter how many layers you wore and chilled you from the inside out. The grounds around the castle had turned into a boggy slurry and the lake had flooded. The whole castle was damp and clammy, and without most of the fires lit making your way down to the hall required full winter regalia.

Draco glanced around the dorm. Everyone else was still fast asleep. He slumped against the window frame, wrapping his enchanted dressing gown closer around him. There were pros and cons to staying with the Gryffindors, as there were to all things.

Pro: he was in close proximity to Hermione.

Con: he was in close proximity to Potter and Weasley.

Pro: it was warm.

Con: it was twee.

Pro: he was getting the hang of tolerating Potter and Weasley's presence

Con: he was getting the hang of tolerating Potter and Weasley's presence

The last one confused him. He had admitted to himself he loved Hermione. He loathed himself for it, but he could admit it. It left him with two choices: purge himself of this mudblood obsession, or accept it and find some way of getting on to her good side. To do that, he had to learn to make nice to Potter and Weasley.

What worried him was that it wasn't so bad. Sure, he couldn't stand either of them, but on a personal level they weren't so bad. If Potter had taken up his offer on the first day they'd probably be good friends by now, and Weasley, well, if his ancestors had had a little more forethought they too could have been friends. When he thought of it that way it seemed almost ridiculous. Well, Potter perhaps not, but Weasley… They were both pureblood, after all, and from long established families. It was just that Draco couldn't understand why any family would let themselves get into that kind of state. Poor. The mere thought made him shudder. But he had a sneaking suspicion that Hermione might prefer that poverty, in a perverted sort of way. She didn't see money as an asset, personality wise. If anything she thought too much money was a bad thing. Draco couldn't even see how a person could have too much money.

Hermione. Sigh.

If she wasn't so damned nice to him! He could just turn his back and push down this unnatural desire until he forgot about it. It wasn't right, wizards loving Muggles. Maybe mudblood were a little better, but it still made Draco's stomach crawl. Halfbloods were worse, he decided, since that showed the perversion in their family. So, really, a mudblood wasn't so bad. But still, he was a Malfoy, and no matter how much the name had been dragged through the mud recently, he still had pride. He was going to marry a pureblood girl. Even if she was his cousin, or worse, Pansy Parkinson.

There was a sound from one of the beds. Terry Boot stuck his head out from the covers of what was normally Dean's bed. He squinted at Draco.

"God, you're up early," he mumbled. "What time is it?"

Draco shrugged, still slumped against the stone window ledge. Terry wrapped the blankets tightly around himself, and shuffled over to join him.

"That weather," he sighed in disgust. He shot a sideways glance at Draco. "So, happy Christmas."

"You too," Draco said dully.

"You had a dream last night," Terry said softly, knowingly, slyly.

"Everyone dreams, every night," Draco said, eyes narrowing. "You just don't always remember it."

"It sounded like the sort of dream you might remember," Terry said. "Dream about a girl."

Draco managed to look scornful, though his stomach was doing flip flops. "Yes, Boot, some of us have reached that age. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll hit puberty eventually too."

Terry sighed and shook his head. "Sarcasm won't get you out of this, Malfoy. You talk in your sleep. Well, you call names and shout things like 'yes, yes! Faster, yes, harder, yes, oh yes!' in your sleep. And 'that's the crocodile!'" he added with a wry chuckle. "I really wanted to wake you and ask what you meant by that."

Draco frowned. "I have absolutely no memory whatsoever of any crocodiles, alligators or otherwise."

Terry lounged against the window frame, jerking back as the cold seeped through his thin pyjama top. Rubbing his arm, he turned serious again.

"This is officially blackmail," he told Draco. "You're dreaming about Hermione. I'll tell people. Give me a reason not to."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Draco scoffed. "I'm being blackmailed by a Ravenclaw. And me, a Slytherin. Who are you intending to tell, precisely?"

Terry considered. "Well, there's Hermione, to begin with," he said slowly. Draco gave an internal hallelujah – Hermione wouldn't tell anyone else, and she'd be understanding about it. "Then there's Potter and Weasley," Terry went on. Well, Draco reflected stoically, it would be embarrassing, but nothing he couldn't get over. Though it was something he'd rather avoid.

"And what are you expecting me to do, to prevent this outcome?" Draco said smoothly, raising one eyebrow.

Terry shrugged. "When I want something doing, I'll let you know," he said vaguely.

Draco's grin suddenly turned predatory. Terry wasn't made for this kind of scheming. He hadn't planned it through, and his uncertainty gave Draco a great deal of wiggle room.

"Why should they believe you?" Draco purred, sliding closer.

"Why shouldn't they?" Terry asked, bewildered. "What, you think anyone's going to take your side?"

"Oh, I wouldn't dream to presume," Draco said airily. He moved closer still. "How do you know you're not doing me a favour?" he asked, brushing one hand down Terry's damp sleeve.

"How on earth would I be doing you a favour?" Terry stared at him.

"You haven't heard the rumours?" Draco asked, grey eyes huge. He picked at Terry's sleeve. "Well," Draco sighed breathily, "I suppose that's a good thing. It's just, well, I heard you… no, I don't want to embarrass you."

"Heard what?" Terry demanded, all thoughts of black mail safely erased.

"Never mind," Draco sighed, eyes sad. He gazed at Terry through lowered lashes. "It wouldn't have been wise, anyway. Too exposed. Potter and Weasley might wake up any time now."

Terry looked at him steadily. "There are plenty of other places we could go," he said slowly. "Though that can wait until you tell me who told you."

Draco froze. Was Terry calling his bluff or was he… oh shit. "You really are…" Draco almost squeaked.

Terry rolled his eyes. "Yes, Malfoy, I like boys. I was under the impression you did too." Draco flinched. Terry had the power now, and Terry knew it. "Don't tell me you were trying to distract me, Malfoy," Terry added.

"We can't," Draco murmured.

"No one told you, did they?" Terry narrowed his eyes. "You were just trying to call my bluff. Well, consider it called, Malfoy. Now make good on that."

"I'll tell people," Draco said, rallying at last. "Consider this blackmail."

"Why should they believe you, Malfoy? You've made up rumours before, and everyone knows you hate anyone who isn't in Slytherin." A thought struck him, "Except Hermione, that is," he added.

"Oh, there are still people who'd believe me. If I tell enough, they'll pass it on and before long those who wouldn't take my word for it will take others'. Who knows, it may even work in your favour. Perhaps you'll get a few boy toys out of it. Of course, there are some who won't look kindly on it. I wonder what your parents would say?"

Terry frowned thoughtfully. "They'd adapt. I have to tell them some day. But you're right, I wouldn't want them to find out from you."

"So let's call it a truce," Draco suggested, abruptly amiable. "All you could do is embarrass me, all I can do is start a rumour. Some would believe it, some wouldn't, and you'd just have to either confirm or deny it."

"So we both stay quiet?" Terry asked.

"I don't see why not."

Terry looked him up and down. "And you?"

"And me?" Draco frowned in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Are you…"

"Oh. No," Draco blushed. "I was just calling your bluff."

"Yeah right," Terry grinned disarmingly. "Denial ain't just a river in Egypt."

"Wow, cliché," Draco said dryly. "Say what you like, I know where my preferences lie. I am always certain of myself. How could I ever be certain of anything else, if I wasn't?"

"You are either extremely self confident, which I admire, or extremely arrogant, which I don't," Terry said. "So, Merry Christmas, I'm going back to bed."

"Sleep tight," Draco smiled.

Ron lay in bed and stared up at the canopy. It had to have been a dream, absolutely had to. Right? He couldn't have just heard what he thought he had, even if his eyes had been open and he'd been staring at a very likely to be real canopy the whole time. And still was. Did that mean he was trying to convince himself he was dreaming while he was still asleep?

It didn't feel like a dream in any way except the sheer surrealism. Terry Boot trying to blackmail Malfoy. Malfoy hitting on Terry. Terry admitting to being gay. It just… The only bit that made sense was Malfoy's dream. Ron knew just how Hermione could inspire such dreams, and he was very aware of Malfoy's feelings for his friend.

It had to be a dream. Had to…

Right?


	18. Chapter the Seventeenth

**Chapter the Seventeenth **

Draco stared at the parcel at the bottom of his bed. Not from any member of his family, that shoddily wrapped misshapen lump in second hand paper and fraying string. He approached it cautiously. He wasn't surprised he had missed it when he woke up; it was well disguised amongst the messy bedclothes. Looking around, there was one at the foot of Harry's bed, and another at the foot of Ron's. Suspicion began to creep over him.

The others were all awake now, and unwrapping presents. Draco swallowed, trying to ignore the dull ache in his chest. The one present sat forlornly at the bottom of his bed. He didn't want to unwrap it. It didn't matter what it was, it was all he was getting.

Ron glanced up as Draco left the room hurriedly. "You know," he said casually, "I almost feel sorry for the guy."

"I know what you mean," Harry said. "I didn't understand why Hermione was being nice to him, but I know how it feels to wake up on Christmas morning and watch other people open their presents without anything to open yourself."

Ron grimaced. "Do you s'pose we should, you know, do something?"

"What could we do?" Harry said pragmatically. "Do you want to give him a Christmas present?"

Ron laughed. "No way," he grinned. "But perhaps I'll stop rubbing last summer in his face," he said, sobering up. "I've been more than cruel to him recently."

"What do you mean?" Harry frowned, cocking his head to one side, glasses crooked on his nose. "What did you do?"

"What? Oh, nothing!" Ron said hurriedly. "Hey, what jumper did mum knit for you this year?"

"Gryffindor lion, as usual," Harry said, pulling it on. The static made his hair stick up on end. "You?"

"Maroon, naturally. Hey, is that what I think it is on Malfoy's bed?" Ron crawled over and picked up the package. The old paper gave way, and a green and grey jumper unfolded. "I forgot I told her he was staying here over the break. I must have mentioned it in the letter I sent with Ginny's and my presents for the family. I guess she feels sorry for him."

"You unwrapped my present," a shaky voice came from the doorway. A combination of recently shed tears and tears yet to be shed made the voice crack and waver. Ron jumped in guilty horror.

"I didn't mean to," he spluttered. "I just picked it up and it fell apart."

"You unwrapped my present," Draco repeated, not moving from the doorway. "You utter, utter bastard."

"You unwrapped his present?" a voice came from behind Draco. He jumped and spun around. Hermione and Ginny stood in the doorway, Cho and Orla hovering a little further down the stairs, not sure whether they should join the others or not. "What were you thinking, Ron?" Hermione demanded.

"I didn't mean to!" he protested again. "It just fell apart. I only picked it up to check if it was what I thought it was."

"That was my only present," Draco mumbled sulkily, finally moving back into the room to let the girls in.

"It's from mum!" Ginny squealed when she caught sight of the jumper. "You've got a Weasley jumper!"

It was grey, with a few silver strands sewn in, and a pale green dragon on the front. Draco looked at it, not sure whether to reject it out of pride or put it on out of gratitude. Aware that rejecting it would probably cause forcible expulsion out of the window, he slipped off his dressing gown and pulled the jumper over his head.

"No fair!" Ron muttered, "It suits him! How come he gets a Weasley jumper that flatters him?"

Draco shot a half-hearted smirk at him, and climbed wearily on to the bed. Already this was shaping up to be one of the worst days of his life, though playing power games with Terry had improved his mood a little. Seeing Ron and Harry looking like tea cosies also helped, reminding him that not only did the Malfoy family have pride, they were also blessed with the aristocratic ability to look good in whatever they wore. It wasn't so much a shape thing as an attitude.

Hermione perched on the end of Harry's bed, and Ginny on the end of Ron's. Cho looked around and settled for the floor, while Orla climbed onto the fifth, empty bed in the room. Terry's tousled head emerged from his nest of bedclothes for the second time that morning. He had opened his presents after speaking with Draco, then fallen asleep again. He squinted across the room.

"Oi, Malfoy, is it still raining out there?" he grunted. No one noticed Ron's abrupt pallor, and he managed to keep from collapsing out of the bed in sheer horror.

Draco glanced through the window. "Looks like," he sighed.

"Ugh," Terry summed up everyone's reaction in a monosyllable. He squinted around the room. "Hey, are those girls?" he asked to no one in particular.

"I thought we had that conversation earlier," Draco said smoothly. "Birds and the bees, and all that. They say if nothing happens by the time you're sixteen you should see a healer." Terry's pillow hit him square on the side of the head, the thump muffling Ron's horrified squeak at this further proof he hadn't been dreaming.

"Why are girls here?" Terry asked.

"Ginny and I always come up, if we're here over Christmas," Hermione explained. "We exchange presents with Harry and Ron."

"And make certain we don't get a lie in," Ron was sufficiently recovered to add.

"Huh," Terry grunted, and keeled over backwards. Cho jumped to her feet, but before she could reach Terry's bed he had started snoring again. Harry clenched his fists at her concern, an action that almost made Draco laugh out loud. Oh, if Harry's crush really did fancy Terry! A few hints to Terry, and he could get a real love triangle going on there.

Hermione didn't know about the early morning chat, but she felt she knew Draco well enough to translate that gleam in his eye. She had no intention of letting him play with anyone's feelings like that, though she did make a mental note to introduce him to the concept of Soap Operas, if he ever became more Muggle tolerant.

That thought made her heart flutter in a way she didn't like. It implied he was becoming more _her_ tolerant. He had kissed her, more than once now, and he seemed to be softening towards Muggles. It was his prejudice that made all this so hard. That and her hatred of most things Malfoy. It was strange to think that only a term ago, she'd hated all things Malfoy, not most. He was changing, she hoped. She didn't like to think she might be the one changing.

An idealistic part of her wanted to believe it was her duty to convince him to abandon his prejudice, using any available methods. A practical part of her roughly pointed out that she just wanted an excuse, any excuse, to kiss him again. It was like some dreadful perversion admitting she liked Draco Malfoy, like confessing she fancied Peter Pettigrew in his rat form.

She shook herself, and smiled brightly at the dormitories usual occupants. "I have something for all you boys," she declared. "Of course," she added more self-consciously, "I'm afraid Ron and Harry's presents are a bit bigger." She shrugged apologetically and handed out the garishly wrapped parcels.

Despite some immediate excitement, Draco quickly decided that by 'you boys' she couldn't possibly mean him. They'd barely exchanged two words since Snape had interrupted them in the hospital wing, and Draco had a suspicion that what Hermione would have done to him if Snape hadn't appeared would have been far worse than the mortifying embarrassment.

He was staring distantly at the ground when Hermione held a parcel under his nose. It took his eyes a few seconds to readjust from the garish red and gold carpet to the garish red and gold paper. He reached up and took it, fingers brushing Hermione's ever so slightly. His heart skipped a beat, and he looked up, expecting to meet her eyes and see his excitement reflected in her face.

She was looking behind her, talking animatedly to Ron about the set of 'dictate' quills, which were like Quick Quote Quills but more accurate, she had given him. It took all of Draco's self control not to crush the delicate parcel. He pulled it from her grasp and she glanced down at him.

"Thank you," Draco said, keeping a tight control of his voice.

Hermione frowned. At first Draco thought he'd offended her ('good!' part of him insisted vehemently) until he realised it was concern that was tightening her face muscles.

"Thank you," he repeated, voice much softer. "I didn't expect this. I haven't got you anything."

She smiled. "Oh, that's okay. I wasn't expecting anything. Go on, open it!"

Draco glanced down at the package. He wasn't sure how Muggles wrapped parcels without spellotape to mould the paper to the gift, and judging by the creases and crinkles in the paper Hermione had used some Muggle method of wrapping. He found a seam in the paper, but he couldn't touch it. He frowned. His fingers glanced across some slippery, smooth surface, the texture in utter contrast to that of the paper. He ran his fingers across until he found an edge, and began to pick at the transparent strip. He succeeded in pulling it away from the paper and it stuck to his fingers.

Hermione sighed. "You're one of these people who saves the paper, aren't you?" she said teasingly. She sat down next to him on the bed.

Draco glanced around. Harry was talking to Ginny about her parents, while Orla and Cho were discussing their presents. Terry was still asleep. Only Ron was watching them. Draco flashed him a smarmy grin, guessing immediately that the look of pure agony on his face was due to jealousy, and then tilted his head and flashed his smoothest, silkiest, most charming smile in Hermione's direction. As if on cue her cheeks pinkened and she ducked her head, only looking at him through a curtain of hair.

Draco carefully peeled the tape away from the cheerful paper, forcing a laugh when it clung to his fingers and feigning incompetence so that Hermione had to help him extract himself from it. Eventually, after much such flirting, he unfolded the paper.

It wasn't a dragon. That alone was enough to produce a genuine smile from Draco. Sitting in the palm of his hand was a tiny glowing projection of a single constellation. Hermione had taken the image from the Astronomy tower; in one of the corners you could see the characteristic crenulations.

"There was a family tree in Sirius's house in London," Hermione explained, "and I noticed how many of your family have names based on constellations. I hadn't realised there was a set of stars called 'Draco' before then. I suppose it's almost as creative as some dragon based trinket," she added with an ironic grin.

Draco smiled. "Actually, it's the first time anyone's ever realised. I should have known it would be you," he grinned.

Terry, who had woken up again, had clambered over onto Draco's bed. "Sirius? Sirius Black? You're related to Sirius Black?" he asked Draco. "The mass murderer?"

"Not something the Malfoys publicise," Draco muttered, glowering at him. Suddenly his irritated frown froze, and he turned abruptly back to Hermione, now with a confused frown in its place. "What on earth were you doing in the Black house in London?" he almost yelled. The whole room went silent. Ron and Harry glared at Hermione, who went scarlet, but everyone else's attention was still focused on Draco.

"You're related to the madman?" Cho asked, horrified. "I suppose it must run in your family," she said in a strained voice. "I mean, your father is a Death Eater too."

"Other side of the family," Draco snapped. "Sirius Black is related to my mother. Cousins, I think."

"So you're doubly likely to turn into an evil killer," Orla asked.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Hermione yelled, leaping to her feet. "There's nothing to prove that kind of thing is even inherited! Draco is entirely separate from his family. He is not his father. He is not Sirius Black, who, coincidentally, _didn't do it_. He is not going to turn into a Death Eater, or betray us to Voldemort, or start killing people randomly."

Hermione's outburst was overblown and out of proportion, and she waited for someone to call her on it. But Ron was on his feet too, then, shouting back, equally vehemently.

"Not going to be a death eater? Not going to side with You-Know-Who?" he near shrieked. "Have you forgotten who you're talking about!?! Draco Malfoy. _Malfoy_, Hermione. The most prejudiced, bigoted, arrogant, mudblood-hating, hateful git on the face of the planet!"

"Yes, Ron, name calling, because _that's _going to help," Hermione snapped back sarcastically. "You don't know him! Okay, yes, he's prejudiced. Very prejudiced. And I know he hasn't exactly been a nice guy, well, okay, he's been an utter bastard to all of us. But…"

"But what?" Ron asked nastily.

"Oh shut up," Draco said tiredly. "Fine, I'm a bastard. No one's disputing that. Yeah, I'm prejudiced. Yeah, I'm rich and proud of it. Come to think of it, there's not much I'm not proud of. I'm smart, rich, talented, good looking, a good flier, pragmatic and modest," he smirked. A nervous laugh ran around the room.

"Perhaps that's why I'm prejudiced," Draco went on again. "I'm arrogant, and I have every right to be. The only thing I'm not proud of is my family, as you may have gathered. But it's not as though I ever spent a lot of time with my father, or any of the Black side of the family. I'm not going to run around slaughtering everyone who can't trace their family back through forty generations of wizards. I'd get my house elves to do it." There was another laugh, but it was even less certain than the first. Draco didn't even bother smile to show he was joking.

He stood up and began to pace around the room, hands tucked in the pit of his back like some intellectual academic. "There are two areas of thought on the inheritance of homicidal tendencies. Some say you inherit it like you inherit red hair," he gestured at the Weasleys. "Others say you learn it from those around you, like accents," he glanced at Seamus's posters. "Of course, you can't tell, since most people are brought up by their blood parents or relatives."

He stood in front of the door and crossed his arms across his chest. "I know what you all think of me," he said coolly. "You think I'm a coward. You think I'm going to kill you. Is there anyone in this room apart from Miss Granger with the intelligence to put two and two together and not come up with two?" he asked scathingly. "I admit, I'm not good with violence, or blood, or danger. My father always despaired of me when he took me hunting. So do you honestly think I'd have the nerves to kill anyone? I don't, and I hope I never reach a point where I have to find out."

Ron was the first to speak up. "What if you didn't have to kill? When the basilisk was killing people you went on and on about how you hoped it would kill all the Mudbloods in the school." His voice was steady and cold, anger under control but still visible, like a caged beast. "You-Know-Who has posts for many kinds of people, I imagine. Don't you share the same aims? A pure-blooded society?"

Draco leant back on the doorframe. "Yes and no," he said eventually. "Not by killing people, but I do think it's, well, disgusting to have wizards breeding with Muggles. I've nothing against Muggles, as long as they stay in their little world, away from 'our type'. I think Mudbloods shouldn't be made aware of their power, or if they must be only because they need to learn to control it. Mudbloods are a risk to our society. Our culture is being irrevocably altered, destroyed even. And more and more Muggles are learning about it. How long before one decides to make it common knowledge that wizards walk among them?

"It's not because they'll want magical solutions to their problems. A few laws and that would be dealt with. No, do you know why the ministry want us separate? Fear. We have so much to be afraid of. The killing curse only kills one person at a time, and wears out the wizard after a few goes. A machine gun can mow down hundreds in minutes, and all you need to keep going is more bullets. Look to the past. Muggles are prejudiced, they fear those that are different. Anyone who read Rita Skeeter's articles will be aware that Potter's foster parents are far from tolerant of his power." He shot a pointed look at Harry.

"Well, that is true," Harry was forced to admit. "But there are loads of people out there who'd be fine with wizards and witches. Many would welcome it! You're judging the population by a few. You're no different. You're just as racist," he accused.

"Yes," Draco said simply. "But I wouldn't dream of going to the lengths some Muggles have gone. If Voldemort had had access to gas ovens, or been willing to use them, Britain would be an all wizard state. And jealousy would only add fuel to the racist fire. Muggles would want to know why some of us are blessed and some aren't. They'd all want to marry wizards in the hope of having magical children. They'd do Dunah testing and cut us open to see what made us different."

"DNA" Hermione coughed subtly. "DNA testing."

"Suppose they couldn't find a cause," Draco went on. "They would resent us, hate us. Or worse, suppose they did find a cause. Suppose they found a way to make everyone a witch or wizard. We had Voldemort, and Salazar Slytherin, I guess. They have Nero, Caligula, Napoleon, Gengis Khan, Stalin, Hitler… Imagine some of the machine/magic syntheses. Nuclear warheads crossed with the killing curse. Machine guns that spray _stupefy_ across the battlefield." He waved his hand expansively, as if to cover every possible weapon and every possible dark arts spell. Orla was looking scared, Ginny and Cho apprehensive, Terry and Harry dubious. Ron and Hermione? Ron's face was carefully blank. Hermione looked irritated.

"What are you arguing, Draco?" she asked crossly. "What are you responding to? The accusation that you're prejudiced, or that you're going to join with Voldemort? Or are you just playing Devil's Advocate?"

"What?" Draco looked baffled.

"Arguing for the sake of arguing," Hermione explained. "I see your point, about joining the wizarding and the Muggle worlds. We all do. But you're taking extremes, and the benefits of such a union could be just as easily argued. You grew up being taught that this kind of prejudice is right, but it isn't. Draco, you must see that it isn't!"

"My prejudice is justified," Draco contradicted her, but not unkindly. "It's not just the way I was brought up. Some of the arguments I was presented with as a child are frankly ridiculous. But some make sense. I disagree with changes to our society as a result of this mixing of blood. I'm a conservative, I suppose. But I don't think killing all the Muggles, Mudbloods and Squibs is the way forwards. It will just draw attention to the wizarding world and Muggles will perceive us as a threat. And eliminate that threat."

"No…" Orla murmured.

"No," Hermione said decisively. "The ministry has an agreement with the Muggle government as it is, and besides, Voldemort will be defeated."

"And we'd all feel a lot better if you stopped using his name," Terry ground out. "You can't call him You-know-who like the rest of us?"

There was a knock on the door. Draco spun around and fell into Professor McGonagall's arms. She righted him with an amused look.

"Professor Dumbledore was getting worried," she informed the dormitory. "No one has come down for breakfast, and it's almost dinner time."

"We missed breakfast?" Ginny asked, aghast. "Oh no!"

For the first time the morning since the girls had arrived in the dormitory, the laughter was neither nervous nor forced.


	19. Chapter the Eighteenth

**Chapter the Eighteenth **

Hermione leant against the portrait hole, frowning to herself. Yesterday she'd received a present forwarded from her parents. It was from a school friend from years ago. And now there was that faint guilt from not having even sent a card. She didn't even have a card to send.

"Hey, are you going to stand there all day?" a voice called from beside the fire. Terry Boot was lounging in front of it, bare-footed and pyjamaed.

"Just thinking," Hermione reassured him. "I was hoping to find someone to run an errand for me. McGonagall wants to see me about my NEWTs in a minute, but I've just realised that I need to buy a present for a Muggle friend and send it, today if possible."

"We're not allowed down to Hogsmeade just now," Terry pointed out dryly, "just in case you've forgotten."

"I know," Hermione sighed. "I'd run down myself and risk it, but I really can't dodge this appointment. McGonagall's been hunting me all Christmas."

"Are you sure it's about your NEWTs?" Terry frowned. "I'd have thought that that could wait until term began."

Hermione grimaced. "It could be about skipping lessons, I suppose. I mean, it's not something I've made a habit of, but I think that Defence Against the Dark Art's teacher has finally got around to complaining."

"I hope that's all it is," Terry said amiably.

Cho appeared, looking harassed. "Men," she muttered under her breath, throwing herself into an armchair. "Boys!"

"Oh dear," Hermione said. "What happened?"

Cho frowned at her. "It's just, well, it's Harry. I mean you know he's got this crush on me, right?" For a moment she looked like she wasn't sure she should be telling Harry's friends, but her emotions overwhelmed her doubts and she plunged on. "And I like him, I do, but, I don't know, perhaps it would have been better if we had never gone out. I was still too upset about Cedric, and it all fell apart. Well, _I_ fell apart. But he keeps dropping hints that he wants to have another go, and I just don't want to any more. And I told him so, and he started yelling and I didn't want to hurt him, but he's acting like my sole purpose in life is to torture him. And now he's sulking up there." She sighed and stared at the fire. "I wouldn't even be here, except my father's new girlfriend decided she didn't want me around because it makes her look like a gold-digging tart, which she is, coincidentally."

"Ouch," Terry said sympathetically.

Cho looked at Hermione pleadingly. "Some people just don't understand that the world doesn't revolve around them, you know? Harry can't get it into his head that my life is enough of a mess as it is without a boyfriend thrown into the equation. My parents are getting divorced, my last boyfriend _died_, I'm in danger of failing my NEWTs and everyone is putting pressure on me to plan the next sixty plus years of my life out and I don't even know what I'm doing next week!"

Hermione sighed. "I'll talk to him for you, if I can. He's been really awkward recently. Well," she snorted, "it's not really just recently. Harry has always had a lot of attention focused on him and his problems. He doesn't always register that just because someone doesn't have a dark lord hell bent on their destruction, their life doesn't still suck."

"Exactly!" Cho agreed vehemently. "It's like he's the only person that hurts. I don't understand how you put up with him sometimes."

"Oh, he's really not that bad," Hermione quickly leaped back to his defence. "He is going through a lot. I swear, I'll talk to him, though. He's not exactly girl-savvy."

Cho snorted with laughter at that. Hermione stiffened slightly. "You might also want to remind him that you won't be here next year, while he will," she added. "That's always worth taking into account in school relationships. One of the reasons I haven't bothered."

"You're right," Cho shook her head. "I think I'm going to go for a walk to clear my head."

"Outside?" Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Of course outside," Cho said, looking bemused. "Where else?"

"Well, seeing as it's just as cold and windy inside the castle, and you're less likely to get so imbedded in the ground that you need Hagrid to pull you out, I'd say you might be better off finding a tower to sit at the top off." Hermione grinned cheekily. "Hopefully a suitably dramatic breeze will ruffle your hair and make your cloak flow out behind you, so you can pretend you're on the cover of whatever type of novel takes your fancy."

Cho chuckled. "Sure," she said, rolling her eyes. "Or maybe I'll just go and pick my way down to the lake and look for the giant squid."

"It's up to you," Hermione told her.

As Cho made her way out of the portrait hole Draco darted through.

"Didn't anyone hear me knocking?" he complained. "I've been standing out there for ten minutes!"

"Forgot the password?" Terry asked teasingly. "It's 'Deck the halls with boughs of Polly'."

"And you wonder why I forgot," Draco said scathingly. "Who on earth is 'Polly'?"

Terry shrugged.

"Hi, Hermione," Draco smiled at her. "McGonagall's looking for you."

"Oh, damn," Hermione stamped her foot in frustration.

"Hermione Granger avoiding a teacher?" Draco raised his eyebrows. "You know, I hadn't noticed all the water in the lake turning to blood. I'll ask Cho when she gets back."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I just got a present from a friend I haven't seen in ages, and I haven't sent anything to her. I know exactly what she'd like, as well. I really want to just dash down to Hogsmeade and get it, but I can't. I really need to send it to my parents as soon as possible s they can send it to her, too, otherwise she'll realise I forgot."

"What is it?" Draco asked.

"There's a particular book in the bookshop there. 'Dragons and their Ken'. It was on one of the reading lists last year. She'd love it. She doesn't know dragons are real, but I know she'd adore it. And the bookshop's even open!" Hermione sighed. "I need someone to get it for me, I guess," she hinted.

"I'll do it," two voices said simultaneously. Hermione spun on her heel to see Ron, recently entered. She stared between the two boys. Outside she could hear footsteps.

"Okay, fine. Decide between yourselves," Hermione said hurriedly. "Here's a galleon. Buy yourself something with the change." She was about to hand it to Draco, but a quick flash of insight led her to just drop it on the floor instead, and she darted out of the portrait hole to find Professor McGonagall.

Ron and Draco both leaped for the coin at the same time, but Terry snatched it from them first.

"Uh uh uh," he grinned. "We can't have you fighting now. What would Hermione think?"

Ron and Draco stared at each other. "I'm going," Ron growled.

"Me too," Draco said.

"Okay then," Terry grinned. He handed the coin to Draco, who smirked triumphantly.

Ron looked smug. "Do you know how to get to Hogsmeade when were not allowed off of the grounds?" he asked.

Malfoy paused on his way to the portrait hole. "Let me guess, secret passage?" Draco drawled. "Come on, I know this place has them, and I know your brothers must have known about them, so it stands to reason you do. Let's just go, get the book and, I don't know, some chocolate or butterbeers or something, then get back here. It's bloody cold out."

"I'd rather go alone," Ron said stiffly.

"So would I. I've got the money, too, but you know the way. Since neither of us is going to give up on this, why not save time and agree now to just both go? Tell you what, I'll even promise not to insult your family. Now there's a once in a lifetime offer," Draco said snidely.

"Why are you so keen?" Ron asked suspiciously, stepping towards the other boy.

Draco gave him a steady look. Ron snarled.

"I want to get chocolate, naturally," Draco said dryly. "Now can we go and get the sodding book?"

"Fine," Ron grumbled. "But remember what you said about the insults. Say one thing, any thing, about my hair or money or parents or brothers or sister or _anyone_, and I'm knocking you out and leaving you to drown in the mud, got it?"

"Yessir!" Draco mock saluted.


	20. Chapter the Nineteenth

**Chapter the Nineteenth **

It was not, to put it lightly, a pleasant journey. Draco, keeping his promise, had found himself unable to think of anything to say, and Ron found he could communicate more in a glower than he could in any insult or swearword. Though the walk did give him time to think up some rather creative ones.

The uneasy truce lasted until they reached the cellar under Honeyduke's. Ron regretted not bringing the invisibility cloak, though asking Harry right now would have ensured him a hex. Besides, he had no intention of sharing it with Malfoy. As they all got older the trio were finding it harder and harder to fit under the cloak as it was, and generally hoped people wouldn't notice three pairs of feet wandering around on their own. Ron was quite tall and Draco, though considerably shorter, was no weed either. The idea of having to get close enough to him to keep both of them covered made Ron shudder.

"I think it ought to be okay to go up," Ron muttered to Malfoy. "It's Boxing Day, after all, so the shop ought to be empty."

"And shut," Malfoy added.

"Yes, and shut…" Ron repeated with a confused frown.

They climbed through the trapdoor and stood in the stock room. Ron led the way into the main shop, watching Malfoy carefully to make certain he didn't steal anything. The main shop was full of covered boxes and crates, empty displays and bare shelves. There was something sad about it, like a beach in winter. It looked unwanted, almost ugly.

Malfoy ran a finger across the surface of the counter. He scrutinised it and rubbed his fingers together.

"They were open on Christmas eve," Ron told him. "I suppose this must all be getting ready to send out for New Year's Eve. You know, for parties."

"We always had the best parties," Malfoy sighed. "_Everyone_ came. Everyone who was anyone. I've never not been at home for Christmas before, except the year of the Yule Ball. And even then, I went home for New Year's."

Ron thought: spoilt rich only child. Ron said: "Yeah, we used to do that, but Mum got sick of Bill and Charlie bringing their girlfriends. Never got along. She liked Percy's girlfriend though, Penelope Clearwater."

"I remember her," Malfoy said, forcing himself not to make comments about sardines.

"Yeah. I think she dumped Percy when he started obsessing over Ministry stuff." Ron looked uncomfortable. This wasn't a subject he wanted to delve into any deeper. "So, shall we get going? You wanted to get back."

"What? Oh, yeah." Ron turned to see Malfoy blinking like a rabbit in the headlights, apparently woken from some daydream. He had been staring at the boxes, and Ron rolled his eyes. Of course it was a shock, the way Malfoy's life had changed so abruptly, but if he was going to get tearful over every little change he was never going move on. Life was all about change.

Malfoy frowned. "Quit staring at me," he said defensively.

"Wasn't," Ron responded automatically. He reached over and yanked on the door handle.

They both stared at the handle. Ron moved it up and down, pushed and pulled, but to no avail. Malfoy walked over and nudged him out of the way, and moved it up and down, pushed and pulled and swore a lot more than Ron had.

They exchanged looks. Both whipped out their wands and "Alohomora!"

Nothing.

"It's Boxing Day," Malfoy said. "It's shut. I told you the shop was shut, didn't I?"

"You failed to mention that you knew it would be locked too!" Ron snapped.

"Well I didn't _know_, did I?" Draco snarled. "But it's a reasonable assumption, isn't? I suppose we have to go back and find another route."

"There isn't one," Ron told him. "All of the others have collapsed or been blocked. If we don't get out of here then we'll just have to go back and tell Hermione that we couldn't get her damn book."

There was a sound. They both froze.

"Bugger," Draco muttered. "The people who own the place have woken up."

"Back to the cellar!" Ron pointed, the sleeve of his jumper catching on the door, as knitted clothes always do. He frowned and yanked on it, unravelling the sleeve. His irritation was increased when the door abruptly swung outwards and the wool followed, leaving him with a bare arm. Then his mind caught up with the events and he darted out of the open door, pulling Malfoy after him. With a quick yank he managed to shred his sleeve even more, but also pull the wool off the bolt on which it had originally snagged.

"A bolt. On the inside of the door," Malfoy sighed, having shut the door carefully. There was a sound inside. He legged it down the road, pulling Ron after him.

"We are such idiots," Ron said. "Why on earth didn't we see that?"

"Well, most doors are spelled shut," Draco pointed out. "With spells that take more than an 'alohomora' to counter. Though the way Hogwarts is going, it won't be long before breaking and entering becomes a part of the lesson plans."

"We weren't breaking, and we weren't entering," Ron pointed out. "Though we may have to, if the shop owner notices the door isn't locked. He's bound to come down to find out what all the racket was about."

"…" Malfoy swallowed. "Anything back up plans?" he asked. "You know, in case praying fervently doesn't help?"

"Not so much," Ron sighed. "We can always walk, I guess, but people are going to want to know what we were doing outside the castle grounds in the first place."

"Be so much easier to explain if you were Terry," Malfoy muttered.

This was too much for Ron. "I knew it!" he burst out. "I wasn't dreaming! Terry's gay and you had a wet dream about Hermione!"

They stared at each other. It struck Malfoy as very unreal. He had snuck out of Hogwarts, breaking God knew how many rules, with his worst enemy, to buy a book on behalf of a girl they both liked. It was winter, it was cold, they were standing in an alley having just broken _out_ of a shop, and now, of all times, Ronald Weasley chose to bring up the conversation he had had the previous morning with a boy he really didn't know that well. It struck Ron as very funny. Malfoy was pink. Terry was gay. Harry was heartbroken. Ron was standing in an alley wondering if the girl he fancied was just as appealing to Malfoy.

Ron laughed. Malfoy grimaced, but the hysterical laughter was catching, and he started to giggle in a most unmanly way. This only made Ron laugh harder, and he started to wonder if there wasn't something going on between Terry and Draco. Draco did his best to sober up, but the sight Ron collapsing onto the ground, one jumper sleeve a mass of tangled wool was too much for him.

Eventually the laughter subsided. "Come on," Draco sighed, "we better hurry. If the supply shop is shut we're going to need to come up with a way of getting in."

"No! Wait!" Ron grabbed his arm. "You aren't getting away that easily."

"What?" Draco asked mock innocently. 

"You. Hermione. What's the deal?" Ron asked, all laughter gone.

"Why does there have to be 'a deal'?" Draco asked carefully.

"Because I'm not an idiot, Malfoy, no matter how much you like to think I am," Ron said coldly. "I know you and Hermione were kissing, and God knows what else because I don't want to, and I know you're attracted to her. So I want to know precisely, with diagrams and flow charts if necessary, what is going on between you two."

"You need diagrams?" Draco asked, amused. Ron drew himself up to his full height and glowered down at Draco, who sobered up quickly. "Look, she's an attractive girl. She's been nice to me. Maybe I have kissed her a few times-"

"A few? More than once?!" Ron shrieked. "You, you, you…"

"I'd never date her," Draco said silkily. "I can't even justify laying a hand on her, not to myself. She's a mudblood."

Ron thumped him in the stomach. Draco folded up without a sound, collapsing to a sitting position on the muddy ground. Ron aimed a vicious kick to his stomach, and again Draco took it without a sound. This unnerved Ron so much he stopped before he caused any internal injuries. That didn't mean he wasn't still angry though.

"You're leading her along," Ron said, staring down at the Slytherin curled at his feet. "I don't know what's going on in her head, but I know that you are a sick, prejudiced, bastard. Maybe I do agree with some of what you said on Christmas morning, certainly about what might happen if the wizard and the Muggle worlds merge. But _that_, what you said just then, was simple racism. And racism is bad."

"You can't think of anything better than that?" Draco wheezed. "'Racism is bad'. Yeah, and You-know-who's a 'naughty boy'."

"Do you want me to kick you again? Somewhere even more painful?" Ron asked, drawing a foot back and aiming it at Draco's groin. Years of parental conditioning meant that he wasn't even certain he could kick Draco there, rules ingrained in his soul after fight and battle with five older brothers. Still, it was good to look threatening.

Draco shook his head, and began to get back to his feet. Ron let him. He felt better when he was facing a standing opponent. Kicking a guy when he was down, attacking someone from the rear, they were the sort of things _Malfoy _would do.

"Fine," Malfoy grunted. "I take it back. Hermione and I are a happy couple, she has shown me the error of my pureblood ways and we're planning the wedding for March. Happy?" Ron said nothing. "I thought not," Malfoy spat. "I see the way you look at her, you know. I know you want her. You're just afraid that the competition is getting too hot for you. _She doesn't even know you care_, Weasley. I told her, and she laughed. She didn't believe me. She's single. She's fair game."

"She's not some animal to be hunted," Ron ground out. "And this has nothing to do with how I feel about Hermione. It has everything to do with how much I hate you, though. I know your life has been crap, recently. Get over it. Get over yourself."

Draco stared at him. "Yeah, that's just what I need right now. A boot in the stomach and being told I need to get over myself. Oh, I have seen the light. My misery was nothing compared with yours, or Potter's, or whoever you happen to have in mind right now. Why, the fact my parents just left is nothing. I never realised until you pointed it out to me. Why, I ought to be dancing gaily around, tossing flowers in your path and singing songs of-"

"You do know sarcasm is the last resort of people who don't have a hope in hell of winning an argument, don't you?" Ron said snidely.

"Really? I thought that was physical violence," Draco retorted.

Ron gritted his teeth. "Maybe this is about how I feel for Hermione," he admitted. "But it's not just jealousy. I'm worried about her. I'm worried that you're going to hurt her, badly. I'm worried that she seems to be losing her mind! Or perhaps that's me. Perhaps it wasn't you who made her cry repeatedly over the years by calling her mudblood. Perhaps it wasn't you who mocked her appearance and intelligence. Perhaps it wasn't you who has been a complete and utter git to everyone in this school except your chosen few over the years."

"She hasn't forgotten," Draco said. "I know I'm not a nice person. I keep reminding her of that, but she has this stupid idea that there's a bit of good inside everyone. And you know why I like her, why I keep kissing her and flirting with her? Because she makes me believe it too."

"I used to believe it, 'til I met you," Ron said sulkily.

"You heard what I thought, yesterday," Draco persisted. "You even said you agreed with some of it. I know I'm prejudiced. I'm not ashamed of it. I believe my reasons are right. I don't believe the propaganda the Death Eaters spread, or the zealots cry from street corners. Hermione can see that I am a reasoning, thinking being, and I can see that she is too. She respects my opinions, and I hers. I never _had_ to justify anything to you lot, but I did, because none of you can climb out of the mental cages you built yourselves and see that she might be right. Your prejudices against me are hurting her."

Ron snorted softly. "You turned it all around. Now we're the prejudiced ones. Now we're the ones hurting Hermione. You're a git, Malfoy, but you might be right. But that doesn't mean I don't think you and your prejudices aren't hurting her. Life would be better all round if you just stayed away from her."

"Mine wouldn't," Draco said, thinking aloud.

"Normally I'd say 'who cares'," Ron sighed, "but for Hermione's sake I won't."

"You just did."

"Shut up."

Draco smirked.

"Come on," Ron sighed. "The sooner we get this over with the sooner we can go back to ignoring each other most of the time."

"That's what I've been saying all along!"

"I've already acknowledged you were right once today. Don't make me do it again."

Draco laughed. "Yeah, I know how humiliating that must be for you."

"After you," Ron gestured out of the alley. "I do so want the police to be able to track you down by the fingerprints that appear on the door handle."

Fortunately, the small bookshop was open, and had the book in stock. Ron noticed with a grim smile that it only really sold school texts. Their prize stock was the most recent edition of 'Hogwarts, a History', which came complete with 'everything you ever wondered about the Chamber of Secrets!'

Ron and Draco shared a look. "You know, Hermione would love that," Draco commented innocently.

"Are you going to buy it for her?" Ron asked sweetly.

"Oh no, it doesn't do to flash one's cash," Draco said smarmily. The shopkeeper glanced from one to the other and sighed. Students, eh?

They made their way back slowly. "Do you think that wannabe witch is finally going to teach us some magic this year?" Draco asked abruptly.

"Next year, you mean," Ron smirked. "She's still going on about all that mind reading stuff. You'll love it, we'll get Snape hanging around too." Draco snorted, but Ron decided not to ask.

"Ah, joy. The Gryffindors will get what they deserve," Draco smiled. "But I'd still give that up if it meant we didn't have her poking around in our heads even more than she already is."

"What are you hiding, Malfoy?" Ron asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Looks like all my secrets are out in the open," Draco replied, "but what would Hermione say is you were forced to blurt out your secret to the entire class?"

"You're not going to tell her, are you?" Ron asked, aghast.

Draco stared at the book in his hand. "No, I guess not," he admitted. "She didn't believe me before, said I didn't know you, which is fair enough. But I can't see the point, really. Wouldn't gain me anything." He looked up at Ron. "Why haven't you told her?" he asked suddenly. "What have you got to lose?"

"What, except one of my closest friends, and my dignity?" Ron asked scathingly.

"She wouldn't hate you," Draco said, a bit confused. "At worst, it'll be a bit awkward for a few weeks, but Hermione's not the sort to let that get in the way anyway. At best, you and she end up going out. I'd say it was an acceptable risk."

Ron didn't want to reply to Draco, and he found he didn't have to. They had reached Honeyduke's again and although the door was unlocked the owner was standing on the other side, a large man with an amused expression on his face. Both boys froze.

The shopkeeper opened the door and beckoned them inside. The boys obeyed unquestioningly. Both were wondering whether Dumbledore would consider this an offence worthy of expulsion.

"Are you the boys who were poking about in here earlier?" the large man boomed. Ron and Draco stayed silent. "We're shut, see, and I don't want boys wandering in and out at will, not on a holiday. I know about the passage, see, in the back room, but we've never had any trouble before."

"We didn't take anything," Ron objected.

"I know that, I've checked the stock. Imagine what a holiday this has been, checking the stock."

"We're really sorry," Draco said. "We never meant to disturb you. It never occurred to us that you'd be closed, you see."

"You know, and I know, that you aren't allowed down here any old day. There're set weekends when you students invade this place. So, here you are, breaking school rules, breaking into my shop. And I was just wondering, see, before I march you back to that castle and hand you over to the head, why?"

"Buying a book, sir," Draco said, holding up the copy.

"Don't get smarmy with me, son," the shopkeeper frowned.

"We were, honest," Ron said, stepping forwards. Somehow even when telling the truth Draco managed to come across as basically dishonest. Ron hoped the freckles would count in his favour when it came to having an 'honest face'. "We needed the book for a spell, for New Year's. It's a surprise, for our girlfriends, and we couldn't find the school copy." Draco hastily moved his fingers to cover the title on the front of the book, and shot Ron A Look. "You can check our pockets, all we've got is the book and some change. We knew we were breaking the rules, but we got them chocolate and they got us really great gifts and we felt we had to do something. Neither of us wants to start the New Year single, sir."

Draco held his breath. As lies went, it was unconvincing, but it was still more credible than the actual truth. The shopkeeper stood there, arms crossed over his bulky chest, considering. Eventually his mouth twitched, and a smile began to form on his face.

"Just chocolate, aye?" he chuckled. "Hope it wasn't just Honeyduke's chocolate. They must have got you something real good to beat that. Go on, beat it, back up to school. Next time I see either of you I want it to be coming through that front door with a purse full of money to spend on my sweets, see?"

"Yes sir!" they chorused, and fled. As Draco clambered down the trapdoor after Ron, he could hear the shopkeeper's laughter echoing from the main shop.

"That was quick thinking," Draco said, "though I don't know if he believed us. Chocolate perhaps wasn't the best choice."

"Well I could hardly say flowers, could I, not at this time of year!" Ron rolled his eyes. "I thought he was going to punch my lights out!"

"Not everyone is as violent as you," Draco smirked.

A thought struck Ron. "Hey," he said after a second, "why didn't you, you know, yell? When I hit you. And kicked you."

Draco shrugged. "Learnt not to. If I made a sound when dad was beating me I just got it harder. After a while you learn to keep your mouth shut."

"Your dad beat you," Ron murmured.

Draco stopped walking and stared at him by the light of his wand tip. "I take it your father never did you," he said slowly.

Ron remembered listening to Mitty tell her tale about Draco's summer, and he remembered her referring to it, but it hadn't really sunk in then. The Malfoys had always struck him as the sort of family to believe in caning and corporal punishment, but the image of Draco sitting in a portrait gallery balling his eyes out because he hadn't sneered hard enough didn't fit with the Draco he knew. So he'd forgotten it, for the most part. But now he realised that it was not so much that Lucius had hit his child that bothered him as the fact that Draco thought this was perfectly normal behaviour.

"No!" Ron spluttered. "Mum might give us a sharp tap if we were fighting, but my parents never hit any of us!"

"Different methods of discipline," Draco shrugged, trying to make it seem like less of a big deal.

"You could have your father for child abuse," Ron persisted.

Draco winced. "Right, because I want to send him to jail. Oh wait, _he's already there_."

"Sorry," Ron grimaced. "Still, it's worth a thought."

"No, it isn't," Draco said firmly. "You know why? It's not a big deal. I can't think of a single time I didn't deserve it. I was always failing him in some way. And since he's already out of my life, it's hardly an issue now, is it?"

"What do you mean 'failing him'?" Ron asked.

"Just shut up, okay!" Draco spun around. "Shut up! And don't even think of mentioning it to other people. Don't go getting it into your head that I'm some poor abused child! I'm not. It was _discipline_. I'm not someone to just pity and pat on the head. I can look after myself. I don't need the whole school wandering around thinking '_oh, that poor Draco, so bullied by his father that he actually misses him while he's in prison. That's the mark of an abused child, that is, wanting the parent even though they hurt him_.' I wasn't abused, and I don't give a damn about my father! He deserves to be in jail for what he did as a Death Eater, not what he did as a father. So Shut Up!"

Ron watched Draco stride away, his wand a bobbing point of light. Ron sighed. "Lumos," he muttered, and his own wand began to glow. Honestly, if Draco cared so little about his father, why was he making such a big fuss out of all this?


	21. Chapter the Twentieth

**Chapter the Twentieth **

Term was approaching. This side of Christmas it looked much closer, and Draco had to force himself to keep the dread from showing in everything he said and did. Things had been… 'different', since Christmas. Draco knew people still talked about him when he wasn't there, but when he interrupted one of these conversations, whether by accident or otherwise, the quality of silence was different. Pitying.

He chucked a stone into the lake as hard as he could and was rewarded with a rumbling moan and some large bubbles as the giant squid protested at this treatment. He had spotted Hermione making her way determinedly through the muddy quagmire the grounds had become over the course of the soggy winter, and the last thing he wanted right now was her pity as well. He didn't want every moment he spent with her tainted like that; knowing she was there only out of a moral obligation, and that she'd do the same for anyone. He wasn't just anyone, he was Draco Malfoy, and he was used to being treated like a someone.

"Why are you sulking out here?" Hermione demanded as she approached, pulling each mud caked boot out of the mud an immense effort that left her panting and exhausted as she collapsed against a tree near where Draco stood.

"I'm not," Draco said in the face of the obvious.

"What's wrong now?" Hermione demanded brusquely. "Honestly, what do you want from us? The others nominated me to find out."

"So you didn't come here out of choice?" Draco asked sharply.

"I didn't say 'no', did I?" Hermione said more softly. "Look, we're just worried. You were having so much fun on Christmas and Boxing Day, and then suddenly it all went sour. Why?"

"I caught on," Draco said, pointedly not looking at her. "I don't want your pity. Any of you. Especially not Potty and the Weasels."

Hermione giggled despite herself. "That sounds like some bizarre punk rock band," she explained when Draco, against his better judgement, turned around to fix her with a quizzical look.

His breath caught in his throat. For all that he fallen for her, he'd never really thought of Hermione as more than averagely pretty, tolerable to look at. Now he out and out stared, drinking her in. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkling, life pouring out of every pore. She was wearing a black wool coat, fitted at the waist, and her school scarf over a Weasley Jumper. The mix and match outfit, chosen for practicality against the cold wind and threatening rain, was so typical of her Draco almost smiled with an odd glow of nostalgia. She was holding gloved hands up to her mouth and the bobble hat Ron had given her for Christmas had slipped over one eye, her hair curling madly out from under it to frame her glowing face. She was so utterly alive that Draco couldn't move, couldn't breath, couldn't think.

An ache settled in his heart. She was alive. He was dead. Life meant changing and evolving and moving forwards. Death meant staying in one place until you rotted to nothing. That was what Draco was doing, rotting. Jealousy hit him in a huge wave and he almost staggered under its weight. He couldn't remember what it was like to be that happy and optimistic and so full of potential.

He turned back to the lake again, glowering across the still grey water. Still, like his life, but not stagnating like he was.

He heard Hermione sigh behind him. "Oh, honestly," she muttered. "Look, it's not pity, I don't even know where you got that idea. I can understand why you don't want pity, Draco. It's sympathy, but it's also condescending. Draco, for the first time, on Christmas day, you managed to make people like _you_."

"I have had friends before," Draco said in a slightly hurt tone.

"They weren't friends. Friends don't turn their backs on a person when he needs them the most," Hermione told him. "We were listening to your opinions and taking them into account. I don't think it occurred to any of us that you even had reasons for your prejudice. Admittedly, I disagree with the reasons you gave, but they were real reasons. Justifications."

"I didn't have to justify anything," Draco said. "I was just sick of you lot living in your little contradictory, hypocritical worlds, where everything revolves around Potter."

"Fine. Whatever you say." Real irritation was creeping into Hermione's voice. She stepped away from the tree and walked over to stand behind Draco. "Even Ron respects you now, did you know that? He doesn't like you, but he's tolerating you, which for Ron is a lot."

"Oh yeah? And what sexual favours did you have to pledge to wrangle even that sacrifice from him?"

Draco knew he had crossed a line. The world went dead silent.

And then, for the first time in his life, he apologised sincerely to a mudblood. "I'm sorry," he said, turning around to look Hermione in the eye. "That was going too far."

She slapped him anyway, but as he watched her storm away up the hill Draco found himself smiling. That hadn't been so hard, had it? And she'd realise, later, that he'd meant it, and give him a chance to explain and excuse his words, because that was the sort of person she was.

* * *

Draco was proved right later that evening. He was playing chess against Ginny, who seemed to have thrown aside all family prejudice in favour of thrashing him utterly and totally. Ron occasionally appeared and suggested moves, and visibly restrained himself from make snide remarks to Malfoy.

Hermione appeared just as Draco was checkmated by Ginny's pawn and what had been his own Queen until Ginny claimed it. He glanced up and smiled winsomely at the brunette.

"I let her win," he said in a stage whisper.

Ginny laughed and rolled her eyes. "Sure you did," she said, getting up and patting him on the head. It wasn't until Hermione was leaning towards him over the chessboard that he realised Ginny had vacated her seat so he and Hermione could talk in relative privacy.

"Does she know what I said?" he asked. He doubted she did, considering how she had acted while they were playing, but she had definitely known something was up.

"No, but I think everyone knows we fell out," Hermione said, voice uncharacteristically cool. "I think the fact I came back almost in tears while you stood there and _smirked_ kinda gave it away," she said caustically.

"I wasn't smirking!" It occurred to him that saying it was the first time he'd apologised sincerely for something other than to a member of his family was perhaps not the best course of action to take. "I… I was smiling," he said lamely. "I'm sorry if I made you cry."

"And why were you smiling?" Hermione asked, ignoring the trite apology.

"Because I knew you would give me a chance to explain myself," Draco told her. _Damn_, he thought, _I wish I'd thought up an explanation earlier_.

"Go on then," Hermione prompted.

Draco considered. "I'm a very nasty person?" he saw Hermione's face darken and he sighed. "Okay, fine. Life would be a lot easier if you accepted that, but if you want to here a few half true lame excuses, that's up to you."

"I know you're a nasty person," Hermione told him. "You reminded me of that earlier today."

Draco sat back in his chair. He noticed, without surprise, that the common room was empty. "I'm not exactly in a good place, emotionally. As you so kindly pointed out, I was sulking. Most people know that that's a really bad time to disturb me. I lash out. Generally I'm not that quick, and you get those petty insults you and the other Gryffindors laugh at when you get back here, the kind of insults that make me sound like a complete pillock with no brains. It was unlucky that you manage to catch me on one of the few days where I'm actually thinking fast enough to come up with something really hurtful." Draco looked her in the eye. "I regretted it the moment the words were out of my mouth," he said, slowly and deliberately.

Hermione sighed. "You're a cruel person, Draco. Even those petty insults hurt. And what you said… I still can't believe you said that. I know you hate Ron, and he hates you, but that was just so low!"

"I know."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione demanded. "'I know'? What kind of explanation is that?"

"I know it was low, even for me. What's worse is it didn't have anything to do with him. I said it to hurt you. I wanted, for that split second, to watch you cry. I wanted you to _hurt_."

"You succeeded," Hermione said, but the coldness was seeping out of her voice. She shook her head. "This is one of those 'misery loves company' things again, isn't it? Draco, you're never going to get past this until you let that go. Making other people feel worse than you do isn't the same as making yourself feel better."

Draco grimaced. "You know, that's the best way I've ever heard that put. Yes, it was that. But it wasn't only that. It's hard to explain why, but I was so jealous of you, standing there. So I wanted to remove the source of that envy."

"Jealous?" Hermione looked shocked. "What of?"

Draco rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "I thought I just said: 'it's hard to explain why'. You wouldn't get it, Hermione. And you should be very thankful for that."

"Is that what you're jealous of?" Hermione asked shrewdly. "The fact that I haven't been where you are right now, emotionally, and I couldn't understand it?"

Draco shrugged. "Not quite, but that'll do."

"I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong, Draco. No one can help you. I don't know what it is that's keeping you so closed, whether it's pride or shame or the idea that you can handle this on your own, but you can't, you see. You can't handle it on your own. You have to let us help." Even as Hermione spoke she knew that she'd find herself repeating those words at some point, maybe very often throughout her life. But right now the face that came to mind for sheer stubbornness in the face of depression was Harry's, not Draco's, and that nestled worm of worry from last summer began to twitch again.

"'Us'? Us who?" Draco asked, voice dull but eyes interested.

Hermione shrugged, and pressed on. "Me, mostly, I guess. But there are others who'd also help, you know. You and Terry seem to get on quite well, and you and Ginny were just having a lot of fun. If you put the effort in you could have a lot of friends, not just hangers-on."

"I don't want their help," Draco told her. "All the Terrys and Ginnys in this world couldn't do a thing. But…" and to Hermione's complete surprise he actually blushed a little, "…I don't mind your 'help'. I mean, you're a good listener, and you don't give up on a person. And you came here and talked to me, despite how furious you were with me, and you gave me a chance to justify what I said today. I can't justify it, but you're still forgiving me."

Hermione was staring at him, open-mouthed. It was such an un-Draco like speech. He took advantage of her shock to lean forwards and press a quick kiss to her cheek, breathing in the dusky scent of her hair as he did so.

"Thank you," he told her, and left the common room. Hermione watched him go, a smile forming on her lips. Some days she thought he was almost redeemable.


	22. Chapter the TwentyFirst

**Chapter the Twenty-First**

When school began again, it was a relief. For a start, Cho and Draco, as well as the others, were finally out of the Gryffindor common room, which eased the tension immeasurably. Harry wasn't talking to Cho, or many other people.

Hermione and Ron had listened to his side of the story the day before term began; now that he was 'finally ready to talk about it'. Hermione had nodded sympathetically at the right points and made a few 'hints' that perhaps Harry's side wasn't all there was to it, and been chased out of the dormitory for her troubles. Ron had taken Harry's side, but in a rather lacklustre fashion. For over a year now they'd both been learning to be a little less blunt with him, but sometimes Hermione wondered if perhaps that was the wrong course of action.

Of course, rumours still persisted about Hermione and Draco. Hermione had decided that most of the school were prejudiced bigots, and made a point of being obviously nice to Draco, who seemed a bit surprised by the vehemence of her kindness, though not unappreciative. Their 'relationship' was beginning to get on Hermione's nerves. They kissed, they didn't speak, then kissed for rather longer, then managed to spend a fortnight in daily contact without mentioning it, then… Then she had started missing him when he wasn't around. She wanted to kiss him again. For some reason she was having trouble getting this across to Draco without alerting the entire school to her crush, which she was still adamant was all it was, so she chose to sit tight and wait for him to kiss her again, which he was sure to do at some point. Right?

One morning, towards the end of January, Harry received a letter via a rather battered eagle, which caused something of a stir. One glance at the envelope sent Harry, Ron and Hermione scurrying back to their common room, only causing more interest in the unusual letter. Harry had frowned at both of them, but neither Hermione nor Ron had any intention of missing the contents of the letter.

"It's from Professor Lupin," Harry announced. "He's in America."

"That would explain the eagle," Ron nodded. "They like things like that over there."

"Of course they do, it's their national bird," Hermione scolded. "So, what's it say?"

"That Voldemort's gone into hiding," Harry said, voice oddly blank, and oddly reminiscent of Draco's voice when he was hiding his emotions. Hermione frowned at Harry in concern. "In America, they think. Lupin says something about it making sense."

"McGonagall told us that," Ron pointed out. "Remember?"

"I remember." Harry looked unimpressed. "Anyway, Lupin's gone to see if he can help find him, since he knew Peter and, well, the impression I get is that he's gong to try and track them by scent, but he's kinda skirting the topic a bit. I guess he doesn't want to out-and-out write that he's a werewolf. I suppose that's why Mafloy's mother could move straight into the Black house, since there's no one living there."

Hermione stared at him. "How do you know that?" she asked slowly.

There was a pause.

"Heard it from a prefect?" Harry suggested.

"Or from a house elf?" Hermione asked softly.

Ron looked from one friend to the other. "Okay, Hermione, we admit it," he said hurriedly, before Harry could start getting defensive. Again. "When Dobby took you to speak to Mitty, we followed under the invisibility cloak. We just wanted to see what was up, and since you weren't going to tell us-"

"You never asked!" Hermione objected loudly.

"She has a point," Harry grinned. Ron breathed a silent sigh of relief. Of course Harry was touchy these days, and the fight with Cho hadn't helped the situation, and naturally he had a lot on his mind, _but. _It wasn't even a 'but' anything, just a vague 'but' that implied that no matter how much Harry's friends tried to justify his mood swings and newfound temper, they couldn't quite.

"You were barely speaking to me," Hermione was pointing out as Ron wrenched his mind back to the conversation at hand.

"Look, it was a good thing, okay? We were worried… okay, we weren't _worried_, per se, but we were curious and concerned. And we found out a bit about Malfoy's summer, and we were nicer to you and him. So it worked out, right?" Harry pleaded.

"Yeah," Ron added, thinking about the various other things he had 'found out' since then about Malfoy. He couldn't stand the guy, personality-wise, but he didn't hate him any more. Well, only in a general 'Weasleys versus Malfoys' sense, and in a jealous way over Hermione, and on a personal level because of years of fighting. So maybe he did hate him, quite a bit, but he could tolerate the guy's presence now. It really was an achievement.

Hermione sighed. "I suppose so. Honestly though, why didn't you tell me afterwards?"

"Because we thought you'd be angry?" Ron said pointedly.

Hermione had the grace to look embarrassed. "So, um, does it say anything else in the letter?" she asked timidly.

"Apparently Tonks went with him," Harry shrugged.

"Do you think they… do you think there's anything between them?" Hermione asked, a pleased flush indicating that she certainly did.

Ron frowned. "Oh get off it," he scoffed. "Lupin?"

"Why not?" Hermione asked. "He's far from unattractive, and Tonks is a very nice girl too."

"Yeah but… he's_ old_," Ron said.

"He's about thirty," Hermione pointed out. "That's not old. Especially not for a wizard."

"True," Harry nodded. "Guess we'll find out by the time they get back."

They were avoiding the topic of why Lupin and Tonks were in America. None of them wanted the couple to find Voldemort, though none would say it aloud. For Harry, his disappearance meant putting off his own destiny for a while. Hermione was worried that they'd bite off more than they could chew, especially if Lupin was still grieving his friend. Ron was more than slightly concerned about Lupin's status as one of the 'dark' creatures, and whether sending a metamorphagus and a werewolf to find him wasn't just another way of handing You-know-who weapons on a plate.

"So, class," Ron said awkwardly.

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "You've got astronomy, right?"

"And you've got Herbology," Ron grimaced. "I miss sharing classes."

"It's this whole mixing us up thing," Harry shrugged. "I suppose we're both lucky we haven't been mixed with Slytherin." Both boys shot Hermione a pitying look as they climbed through the portrait hole.

"Oh get off it," she laughed. "I can hold my own."

Ron grinned and patted her on the back. "Good girl," he said vaguely. "See you!" And he set off in the opposite direction down the corridor.

"You can hold Draco's too, by the sound of it," Harry said as he and Hermione made their way to their separate classes, both heading in the same direction for now.

Hermione shot him a Look. "Don't you start," she warned.

"We're all kinda fuzzy on the details," Harry pointed out. "No one knows what's going on between you two."

"Yeah," Hermione sighed. "Neither do I."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, sympathetic frown creasing his forehead.

"Just when I think I understand Draco, he throws me for a loop. Some times he's a complete bastard, worse than he's been before. He can do that, because now he knows me better he's got more to throw at me and he knows how much some of it will hurt. On the other hands, sometimes he's sweeter than I've ever seen him." Hermione was so glad to finally get it off her chest. In retrospect, perhaps Ginny would have been the person to angst to, rather than Draco's own nemesis, Harry Potter.

"I don't trust him," Harry said bluntly. "I don't think you should either."

Hermione clenched her teeth. "I know," she said slowly and precisely. "I know what you think, and what Ron thinks, and what most of the school seems to think. I am not head over heels in love with him. Yes, I find him attractive. Yes, I'm spending a lot of time with him. Yes, I worry about him a lot."

"So yes, you are falling for him," Harry said coldly, thinking of his best friend's unrequited love.

"No," Hermione snapped. "No, you don't get to do this. You don't get to make me feel bad for being me. Right now, with the way you've been acting, quite frankly I think he's more predictable and a hell of a lot nicer than you are."

"What?" Harry was stunned. "What have I done?"

"You keep snapping at Ron and me for the slightest thing. Look, I know you've had a hard time. I miss Sirius too. But recently things haven't been easy for anyone. There's a lot of stress." Hermione shook her head. "You forget that other people are under as much stress as you."

"No, I don't," Harry told her. "Because they aren't. Dumbledore told me something last term, and you couldn't conceive of what it's been like for me since then."

"You haven't mentioned this," Hermione said crossly. "You can't accuse me of not understanding if you won't explain."

"I can't tell you! You'd hate me!" Harry complained.

"Leave that to me to decide!" Hermione responded in like.

"Why is everyone against me? Cho had a real go at me the other day, and when I tried to tell you about it so did you! It's not fair!"

Hermione stared at him. "You haven't heard a word I've said, Harry. And you certainly didn't hear a thing Cho said. Harry, I'm standing up to you now, like I used to. Remember how I used to? Recently Ron and I have put up with a lot for you, things we wouldn't have before, because we know you're under a lot of stress. We can tell there's a lot you're not telling us; we're your friends. But I think perhaps we've been doing the wrong thing. We're letting you stay in this self-pitying rut, when really, you just need to get over yourself."

"You've hardly been sympathetic!" Harry objected.

"No, Harry, you've hardly been listening," Hermione said simply. "You're taking us for granted and ignoring what we do for you. So I'm going to stop doing it."

And she walked away down the corridor, leaving Harry wondering how expressing his concern for her had escalated into _this_.


	23. Chapter the TwentySecond

**Chapter the Twenty-Second **

Draco shot Hermione a look. It was Arithmancy, and they were sitting together again, now apparently a normal thing much to the rest of the Slytherin's disgust. He was worried about her, very worried. It was strange, being worried about her. He wasn't used to it. Both worrying for another person and having that person give him cause to worry. He hadn't seen Hermione really upset before. Irritated or frustrated or worried, usually all with the same cause. Potter and/or Weasley.

Draco glowered at the desk, angry on her behalf. He occasionally flicked his eyes over to see what Hermione was doing. She was staring disconsolately at her paper, doodling little circles all over it instead of taking notes. Hermione, not taking notes? Clearly time to return the favour and cheer her up.

"Hey," he murmured, nudging her, while Professor Vector drew lines and circles and squiggly lines across the board. Dean Thomas, sitting towards the back, was convinced it was a plan for tactics during a football game. He spent a long time explaining this to the Hufflepuff next to him, earning them both a detention before the lesson was half through.

"Hey," Hermione smi- no, she didn't smile at him. Her lips moved, twisting up at the corners, and she even bared her teeth, but it wasn't a smile. The skin around her eyes didn't crease like it did normally when she smiled, and she didn't get that cute dimple in her left cheek, and he couldn't see her canines, which he could when she really beamed at him.

Draco couldn't believe he was noticing these things. And he had a horrible suspicion he'd been noticing things, now he thought about it, since before this year. Hermione hadn't smiled at him genuinely very often, just sympathetically. Which meant he'd noticed these things watching her with… _them_.

"What's up?" he forced himself to ask softly. He couldn't believe how angry he was getting on her behalf. It wouldn't be long before she noticed. His fingers brushed hers; drawing her attention to the fact she hadn't written a single word down. Hermione found herself more focused on the sensation of skin on skin, and she hooked her middle finger over Draco's, holding his hand down.

"Fight with Harry," Hermione said honestly. 'I told you so' echoed around Draco's head. "He's been so touchy recently and Ron and I, and everyone else, really, indulged him. And, well, I told him that I wasn't going to do that any more."

"About time," Draco agreed with her.

"I think I screwed up big time," Hermione shook her head. "This isn't like one of our normal fights, where we make up afterwards. It's not a fight, really. I told him there was an aspect of his personality I don't like."

"And thanks to Professor Kelp, we know that that's one of the things which will put people at their most defensive," Draco sighed.

"Yes, like challenging someone's world view. Especially, say, their prejudices?" Hermione shot him a sly look.

Draco grinned. "Yes, yes," he said shaking his head. "I got a little defensive at Christmas. Can you blame me, after I put up with so much?"

"No, I can't," Hermione told him. "I can't blame Harry, either," she returned to her original problem. "Not for how he is, and not if he starts to avoid me. I don't think he'll stop talking to me altogether, we'll just, sort of fall out of friendship. I don't want that, I really value his friendship."

"I don't know how I can help," Draco said. "I guess 'wait it out' is the most advice I can offer."

"It's the best advice anyone could offer," Hermione told him. "I know it's all I can do. I can't… I feel like I ought to feel guilty, or angry at myself, or angry at him, or _something_. But my common sense says I did the right thing."

"Common sense is a good thing to listen to," Draco told her. "God knows letting 'your heart be your guide'," he said with air quotes, "is an idiotic thing to do."

"I know!" Hermione agreed vehemently. "I don't understand why people would want to do that. I couldn't bear to be so impulsive, so disorganised. Everything would depend on other people, you wouldn't be able to predict anything about yourself, you couldn't make any plans… It's like walking into an exam without revising, and doing it all on faith."

"I don't understand those people," Draco nodded. "Like Potter, I suppose. Always letting his hero complex do the thinking."

"His loyalty to his friends," Hermione corrected.

Draco shrugged. "Near enough."

"You really haven't had any healthy platonic relationships, have you?" Hermione sighed.

"Isn't this one?" Draco asked hopefully.

"I hope not," Hermione mumbled under her breath, and flushed. Draco pretended not to hear, but he was hurt. Was Hermione that much against a relationship with him?

Hermione glanced across at him. "Do you know what platonic means?" she asked, reading the disappointment he was trying to conceal.

"Yes," Draco snapped.

"Oh?"

"… no," Draco admitted.

"Look it up," Hermione told him, and stood up. Draco frowned as she walked past him and out of the classroom. Why wasn't Professor Vector objecting?

"Are you going to sit there all day, Malfoy?" Lavender Brown called down the room. He was surprised they'd managed to spend an entire lesson chatting without getting detention. Especially sitting at the front of the room. But, oh, there was a detention slip on the table. And one for Hermione that she'd forgotten. Draco still had enough pride left to ignore Lavender as he picked up both detention slips and strode out of the now empty classroom, managing to make it look like she had made the mistake, not him.

* * *

Ron wasn't going to take sides. Absolutely not. Not between friends. God, was this how Harry felt when he and Hermione fell out, or how Hermione felt when he and Harry weren't talking?

Except they were talking. It was just strained. No one was angry, no one was crying, no one was stuck on their own. Harry and Hermione were being polite to each other. They were talking about school. They were discussing DADA. Hermione had brought up Dumbledore's Army again, and Harry had politely declined to restart it. They spoke, very neutrally, about Professor Kelp and the Legilimency and Occlumency she had finally begun to explain.

It was all so bland. Ron sat between them and despaired. All of the passion Hermione reserved for academic debates had fizzled out, all of the righteous anger Harry put into their disagreements had faded to a nod and an agreement to disagree. Ron had asked both of them what had happened, and they'd both been honest with him. Hermione didn't like Harry. Or, at least, that was the impression Ron got. It made no sense, not when they'd been so close for so long. Ron couldn't think of the last time Harry and Hermione had fallen out, not including times when he'd been involved too.

There was a knock on the portrait door. Ron leaped to answer it, desperate to escape the awkwardness that the trio had been plunged into.

Turns out he would have preferred the awkwardness. Malfoy was standing there.

"Hi, Weasley," he said. "Granger there?"

"What do you want with her?" Ron growled.

"I figure she doesn't want to spend the evening making nice to Potter just now," Draco said, "and I wanted to chat with her."

"You think I'm letting you just go off with her?" Ron asked, keeping his voice low.

"What can you do to stop her if she wants to go?" Draco asked snidely. "Face it, Weasley, I'm the one she wants."

"I'm not denying that," Ron ground out. He could face the truth, even if it hurt. "I wouldn't place any faith in it lasting, if I were you," he added. "She feels sorry for you, and it's biasing her. Sooner or later you'll stop being such a miserable git and when you're your bastard self again she'll come to her senses."

"You can believe what you like, if it'll make you feel better. Now, send her out here," Draco snapped, finally getting bored.

"No," Ron said. He stepped away from the portrait hole. Draco flinched and took a step back involuntarily, expecting Ron to slam the picture in his face, but instead Ron merely gestured into the room. "Come in."

The room silenced as Draco Malfoy, Slytherin's fallen angel, stepped into the Gryffindor common room.

"Thank God," he said, looking around at the stunned faces. "You got rid of those appalling Christmas decorations."

Stony silence.

Draco ignored the majority of Gryffindor and sat himself down, with perfect grace and composure, in Ron's seat. Ron glowered at him briefly, but pulled up another chair and sat on Hermione's other side. Hermione was staring at him, mouth hanging open. Harry's eyes had narrowed, and without a word he stood up and walked stiffly up the staircase leading to his dormitory. The common room looked expectantly at Ron, who never took his eyes off Draco. When it was obvious that Ron wasn't going to follow his best friend, conversation eventually resumed.

"What on earth is going on?" Hermione hissed, not even certain which boy was to blame.

"He wanted to talk to you, so I thought it would be 'polite' to invite him in," Ron said, eyes sparking like pieces of flint. It wasn't a look Hermione had seen in his eyes before, but she recognised it from the old Draco.

"So why are you here?" Hermione turned her attention to the blond.

"Platonic," Draco said, voice carrying across the common room. Yet again, the Gryffindors fell silent. "Adjective. Free from physical desire." He paused, and looked around the room, capturing the eye of each member of his captive audience. "Named after the philosopher and wizard Plato, who believed the most pure form of relationship was between an older man and a younger man since there would be no lust and both men would gain something from the relationship."

Hermione laughed.

"What?" Draco turned to her. "I'm right, I know."

"Yes, you are," she grinned, "but do you honestly think that Plato's intentions towards those boys was purely, well, platonic?"

Draco leered at Ron. "If only he was still alive to teach here. I'm sure some here would happily pursue platonic relationships with various members of staff."

Ron ground his teeth, but after rejecting several possible comebacks he chose to glower in silence. He could hear, on the cusp of audible sound, the whisper that were scattering amongst the Gryffindors. You learnt to speak without making a sound at Hogwarts, mouthing to each other behind teacher's backs and using gestures making meanings implicit. Ron could guess what they were saying, but tradition forbade him from turning around and asking.

Draco had his own issues with the whispers. Perhaps it was the fact he was sitting across from Ron, perhaps because he was in the Gryffindor common room, or perhaps he was just socially suicidal and intent to dragging everyone down with him. A mix of pride and vengeance and cruelty bubbled up inside of him.

"Hermione," he said abruptly, pausing to let the whisperers fall silent again so they would know this was important. "Hermione, I was wondering if you'd like to come down to Hogsmeade with me, the weekend after Valentines' Day."

Hermione stared at him. Ron stared at him. Gryffindor held its breath.

"You bastard," Hermione said under the breath, eyes narrowing. The tension thickened, and everyone in the room leaned in, responding to a subconscious urge. "You utter bastard."

"Hermione?" Draco stared at her. A 'no' or a 'yes', that was what he had expected. Not to have mortally offended her.

"Do you know what kind of position you've put me in?" She stared at him.

"What, you can't give either answer without offending one of your friends?" Draco sighed. "Okay, if I'm honest, perhaps I was just trying to rub our relationship, still purely platonic," he shot a glare at Ginny, who had crept up to beside Ron's chair to get a better view and was giving them significant looks, "in Ron's face, just a bit, but that doesn't mean I don't honestly want you to come to Hogsmeade with me. On a date."

"Rub it in Ron's face?" Hermione stared at him.

"Oh. Shit." Draco grimaced.

Ron bit his lip. Was this how he wanted to profess his love to Hermione? Through Draco's cruelty and blundering? No.

"He knows I don't like him, and well, I'm still not okay with what's going on," Ron said quietly. His heart ached. The worst part was, he wasn't even lying. "I mean, your friends are up to you, and I'm not going to abandon you just because I loathe Malfoy, but I may draw the line at you two actually dating."

"Ron…" Hermione looked at him. To his horror, he found he couldn't meet her gaze. Her eyes narrowed, and her head snapped around to glower at Draco. "You utter bastard!" she growled again. He stared at her, grey eyes widening. "I promised myself I would never do this again," she went on, "I thought I'd matured past it. But no, once again your sheer selfish arrogance drives me to it."

Draco opened his mouth, but closed it before he could asked the very stupid question, "do what?"

Hermione slapped him. Hard.

"Get out of our common room," Ginny said in a low voice. Funny how Draco went from good-looking through average right to damn ugly, all long face and small features and snooty posture.

Draco looked around the room, seeing nothing but hostile faces. With a sigh, he walked through the rows of dark eyes and stopped in the portrait hole.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said solemnly. "I didn't ask just to be spiteful. Just… consider it, okay? I only want a 'yes' or 'no', neither of which you've given me yet." Hermione's jaw dropped, and Draco ducked through the portrait hole before she could give him a very emphatic 'never'. If he'd given her that chance, they'd both have regretted it later.


	24. Chapter the TwentyThird

**Chapter the Twenty-Third **

Draco was, well, concerned. Not so much about Hermione's reply, though that was taking up a large portion of his attention, but instead about Dumbledore. It had taken him a while to realise it, but he was back in lessons. And he hadn't heard a damn thing about his father.

He knocked on Professor Snape's door and shifted nervously from foot to foot outside. Well, he was hardly going to go and confront Dumbledore himself, was he? He'd heard rumours about there office. Apparently there was some huge bird in there, and a sword, and of course that sorting hat. And they ganged up on students. Or something. The guy definitely had some strange things in his office, he had to. He was old. He'd probably been around for the invention of the broom. Though Snape had some interesting things in his office, if you were interested in bits of dead animals and thirteen different types of cauldron.

"Come in," Snape sighed, sounding as though he'd heard Draco's dry mental dialogue. Draco pushed the door open and entered the small room. It reminded him of the dungeons in which Snape taught potions, mostly because it was right next to them and contained many of the same things, though fewer desks and chairs.

"Professor Snape?" Draco hovered next to the door. If Snape wanted him to sit down, he'd say so. There was an order to these things that Draco appreciated. He'd spent a few too many days in here, sharing complaints about the harshness of others teachers in giving him detentions he obviously didn't deserve. Normally he just ended up doing his homework. He liked it when professors left detentions to house heads.

"Sit, Malfoy," Snape drawled.

Draco sat.

"What was it you wanted to see me about? I hear you've been traipsing in and out of the Gryffindor common room."

Uh-oh. That was not the sound of a happy Snape. If Draco wanted information about his father he was going to have to tread carefully.

"I thought I'd left something there, after staying in that awful tower over Christmas," Draco scoffed. "My, um, dressing gown. But I hadn't."

"I seem to recall that you were wearing it the other evening, in _our_ common room," Snape said pointedly, "when I was looking for Pansy Parkinson."

"Oh yes, I'd forgotten," Draco said dully. Damn!

"So, do you have anything else to add?" Snape said after a short silence.

"Oh, yes. I was wondering… why am I back in lessons? What about my father?" Draco managed to look Snape in the eye when he asked this. He didn't like the fact that it was a struggle to do so. All he wanted was the truth. When had the truth become something to be nervous of?

Snape wasn't looking at him, he realised. He was looking everywhere but him. So, he'd been nervous before? This must be sheer terror. Draco fought to sit still. He knew how to keep his face rigid, but it was hard to keep himself from looking at the floor. He hated these habits his father had ingrained in him. Shoulders back, head down, back straight, feet shoulder width apart, hands behind back… Raise his head and he might as well be in the army with all his discipline.

"Ah, yes. I wondered how long it would take you to start questioning this," Snape mused aloud. "Dumbledore," and he grimaced at the mere name, "thinks that no news is good news."

"Oh," Draco said, sounding no more convinced than Snape.

"They suspect he has joined Voldemort," Snape said.

Draco had been waiting for those words for years now. Still, this hadn't been a nice way to hear them. He'd heard them, a few times, but never from anyone he knew meant them. And he'd known. He'd known his father worked for Voldemort. He'd never asked, but he'd heard his father's opinions. It… well, it had never occurred to him that it might be otherwise, but he'd still convinced himself his father wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

His father was... his father was still his father, and even of they ended up on opposite sides of the same war that wouldn't change. Some how Draco had never really seen them on opposite sides, but everything was changing now.

"Is there anything else I should know?" he asked, putting a bit of bite into his voice. He was a Malfoy, after all. He could get away with talking down to the teachers.

Snape hesitated for a moment. "No," he said coldly. He finally looked at Draco. "And I'll remind you not to use that tone when talking to the staff here," he added. "Dismissed."

* * *

Hermione was in the library. She had originally gone to the girl's dorm, but Lavender and Parvati had decided to help her by debating the relative merits of a valentine's date with Ron and a valentine's date with Draco. Harry was still in the boy's dorm. Most people had gone to dinner now, but Ron hadn't been hungry and Ginny felt he deserved some sibling solidarity. It was just as well, as Pigwidgeon bundled down the chimney and emerged in a cloud of soot, hitting three different walls, and one twice, before coming to a choking rest at Ron's feet.

Ginny sighed and picked him up by his feet, extracting a scrap of tattered paper from one leg. She let go and Pig tumbled to the ground, almost. At around ankle height his wings started whirring, and he fluttered up to Ron's shoulder, leaving a streak of fine black dust all the way up his robes.

"Pigwidgeon," he snarled, but his heart wasn't in it. Ginny gave him a concerned look. "So, who wrote?" he said.

"Dad. Wants us to call him ASAP. Oh god, I hope something hasn't happened to mum," she worried.

Ron looked horrified. "Anything else want to go wrong today?" he sighed. "I've got some floo powder upstairs. Want to try now?"

"There's no one else around. Wait, is Harry still up there?" Ginny bit her lip.

"Yeah. He'd probably appreciate being included. I mean, what can dad have to say that he won't want Harry to hear?" Ron nodded. "Yes, I'll go and get the floo powder, and tell him what's going on. He can join us if he wants."

"What's going on?" Ginny asked. "I mean, why… what happened?"

"He and Hermione…" Ron stared at her. "I don't know," he admitted. "Hermione thinks we need to practise, I don't know, some kind of 'tough love' thing on him. He's taken exception to that. I've tried speaking to her. I mean, I know where she's coming from but I don't think it will work. He needs us to be there for him, not to shut him out. Or… something." Ron gave Ginny a vaguely pitiful look. "Why everything at once?" he asked softly. "Harry and Hermione, Draco, dad…"

"I'll go get the floo powder," Ginny said. "You clean Pigwidgeon."

"Yeah," Ron said distantly. "I'll do that."

Ginny knocked on the door of the boy's dormitory with an edge of nervousness. She scolded herself for being silly; this was Harry, after all. But that was it. It was Harry. Harry, who she had had a crush on for years. Harry, who had saved her life. Harry, who was best friends with her older brother.

When no answer was forthcoming Ginny pushed the door open slowly and stuck her head around it. Initially there was no sign of Harry, but then the curtains around his bed shifted. Squinting, Ginny could just make out a silhouette through the heavily brocaded material. There was a brief flash of light, which she realised came from a tiny gap in the curtains. The light was glinting off Harry's glasses.

Ginny sighed, and stepped fully into the room. The floo powder was in the cupboard next to Ron's bed. School rules were a bit unclear about floo powder. Students weren't meant to have it in case they took it into their heads to run away, but they were allowed to contact family members by any means they wished, which included floo powder. So some students had some, but they made a point of not flaunting it. Since the Daily Prophet had acknowledged the Voldemort threat, the number of students with floo powder had soared. After entering the Order of the Phoenix over a year ago Mr and Mrs Weasley had given each of their children a small amount, enough for a single journey, in their Christmas cards.

Ron had been sent the letter, therefore Ron was the one who got to do the honours and speak to his father. Ginny dug about in his cupboard, riffling through unwashed socks, what she prayed was _washed_ underwear, several years worth of presents from Hermione, a few old school books and a wizard photograph of Harry, Hermione and Ron.

Ginny stared at it for a moment. When it had been taken Harry had slung his arm around Ron's waist, and Ron had placed one hand awkwardly on Hermione's shoulder. Hermione had her hands full with a large textbook. The Ron in the picture was shooting her coy looks, but she had opened the book and started reading. Harry had withdrawn into the background, sulking under a tree. Squinting into the picture, Ginny guessed he was crying. It made her heart hurt, but that twisty feeling in her stomach that she used to get whenever she saw the black haired boy was gone. Crushes don't last forever, even if you try to prolong them.

That was why Ron had to get his skates on and tell Hermione how he felt. Or, and Ginny felt a guilty pang for thinking it, Hermione should get over herself and tell Draco how she felt. Hermione was her friend, she reasoned, she had a loyalty to her happiness as well as to her brother's. Hermione would be happy with Ron, she knew, but not as long as Draco was in the picture. On the other hand, she'd be happy with Draco no matter how long Ron was in the picture. And Ron would be happy for her, in a strained, sad kind of way. Draco would be bitter and angry and jealous, if Hermione didn't choose him, and he wouldn't let Hermione and Ron get a moment's peace.

"It's up to her," Ginny reminded herself aloud, forgetting where she was.

"What is?" A voice croaked. "And who?"

Ginny jumped. "I'd forgotten you were here," she admitted, turning to look at Harry's bed. He pulled the curtains back so she could see his face. "Dad wrote to us, said he wants us to call him using floo powder. Want to come find out what's going on?"

"Who's 'us'?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Me and Ron," Ginny said softly.

Harry thought about it for a second. "Yeah, I'll come," he sighed at last. "If Ron's still speaking to me, that is."

"Of course he is," Ginny scolded. "So's Hermione, in a way. She just won't put up with you looking miserable unless you tell her why you're miserable. Until you do, you'll get no more sympathy from her."

Harry stared at her. "Well, maybe it's not something I _can_ tell her," he snapped. "Good friends don't make demands like that on each other."

Ginny grimaced. "Come on, I've found the floo powder. Dad wants us to call him as soon as possible."

She climbed to her feet stiffly and started towards the door. There was a moment of doubt when she wondered if Harry was actually going to follow, but her she heard the curtains flap and the floorboards creak as he climbed out of the four-poster bed. He followed her downstairs, to where a very sooty Ron and a very clean pigwidgeon were still battling.

Ron glanced up. "Great, Harry!" he said, with real enthusiasm. Harry looked startled, but pleased. "Come on, let's get this over with. I'm starting to get really nervous."

"I'm sure mum's fine," Ginny reassured him.

Harry looked horrified. "Do you think that's why your father wants to talk to you?" he stared at his feet. "Should I be here? I mean, if it's a family thing?"

"'course," Ron said awkwardly. "You're _practically _family."

So they settled in front of the fire, tossed in the floo powder, and Ron stuck his head into the fire, calling "Weasley kitchen" as he did so. Ginny and Harry watched him, listening to the one-sided conversation.

"Hey, dad. You wanted to talk?"

"Just Ginny and Harry."

"Draco's dad?"

"Oh."

"Ooh."

"Oh dear."

"Ah."

"Right."

"Well, I'll keep an eye out. Do you think I should tell him?"

"Draco."

"Huh. I'm not sure. I mean, he was here earlier."

"Yeah, I know, in the Gryffindor common room. The shock almost killed us all. He wanted to talk to Hermione. He asked her to go down to Hogsmeade with him, on the weekend after Valentine's day, the_ bastard_."

"Sorry, mum."

"Okay. Look, the floo powder's almost run out, so we'll have to cut this short. I'll tell the others to watch out, okay?"

"Yes, love you too. Ginny says hi."

"Yeah, I'll tell her. Okay, bye."

"Yes, mum. Good_bye._"

Ron withdrew his head. Ginny and Harry were astonished at the white shock on his face.

"Lucius Malfoy's only gone and escaped," he breathed, "the absolute bugger."


	25. Chapter the TwentyFourth

**Chapter the Twenty-Fourth **

Hermione woke with a heavy feeling in her stomach. It was Valentine's Day. Sure, it was midweek, but really, she ought have had an answer for the boys by now. Neither would accept her going out with both of them to Hogsmeade, not even if it was Ron on Saturday and Draco on Sunday.

… No, that was a heavy feeling _on_ her stomach.

Hermione sat up carefully and just managed to catch the box of chocolates as it attempted to slide off the bed. She grimaced and looked at the little gold tag.

_Happy Valentine's day_, it read, _with love from –Ron- -your- -secret- -admirer- -your- -friend- -Ron- -Mr X- -Ronald Weasley-Ron –xxx- x x x _

Hermione sighed and smiled. Ron had tried so hard it made her stomach flutter. A few weeks ago it hadn't even occurred to her to think of him as anything more than a friend; now he was doing things like this that made her positively want him to be more than a friend. It was strange. It wasn't entirely unpleasant. She smiled to herself.

Hermione opened the box and laughed delightedly. Ron had left a note inside it, pointing out that he'd taken out all the nutty ones, which Hermione didn't like, and had replaced them with the caramel ones, Hermione's favourite. It was little things like that that made Hermione really think of Ron as a rival for Draco. Ron _knew_ her in ways Draco could ever hope to. Maybe it wasn't always a good thing, but when it came to gifts Hermione knew that no matter how cheap or clichéd the gift appeared to be there would be some small thing that showed it was a gift from Ron to Hermione, not from a boy to a girl or a friend to a friend.

Down by her feet she spotted another gift. It was almost like Christmas. It was rather more symbolic, and certainly more expensive, than Ron's gift. At first Hermione assumed it was going to be considerably less personal, another flashy show of wealth, but when she opened the card her heart stuck in her throat.

_…She gave me for my pains a world of sighs: _

_She swore, in faith 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange, _

_'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful… _

Hermione bit her lip. Othello, of course. Maybe it wasn't personal in the way Ron's was, personal from years of knowing her, but it was a shared kind of personal. It summed up their shared history so perfectly. Regretfully she tore her eyes from the card and turned to the small, elegantly wrapped present. Carefully peeling off the paper she withdrew the kind of box expensive jewellery came in. Could she be blamed for her thoughts immediately turning to rings?

Hermione blinked and shook her head crossly. Of course it wasn't a ring. That would be ludicrous. She opened the box and gasped.

"What is it?" an excited voice squealed. Hermione jumped, startled, and lost the box among the rumpled covers. She threw back the curtains around the bed to see Ginny bouncing up and down, hands clasped together in front of her chest. Lavender and Parvati were both watching as well, though the other sixth year girls also had a handful of cards and small gifts on their beds.

Hermione stared at them. "Have you been watching me?" she demanded, trying desperately to keep her voice angry and her cheeks pale. After all that sappy smiling and girlish giggling blushing would just be the cherry on the cake for the other girls.

Ginny had dived for the box, causing Hermione to scramble up the pillow to avoid roving hands. Ginny didn't blush when she realised why Hermione was ducking away and even managed a crude leer before collapsing into fits of giggles and falling sideways off the bed, as tangled in the covers as Hermione was. The small box skittered across the floor and Lavender made a grab for it, crashing headlong into Parvati who had had the same idea.

While they were blaming each other for the bump Hermione managed to scramble out of the bed and grabbed the box, fleeing to the prefect's bathroom, still in her pyjamas. Locking the door and collapsing against it, she was greeted by the curious faces of Moaning Myrtle and the mermaid.

"Go away," Hermione snapped, unable to help herself. "I've only been awake ten minutes and this is already shaping up to be a miserable day."

"Oo-oh," Myrtle teased. "Pretty Miss Prefect's in a strop. Too many boyfriends? Poor thing."

"Shut up," Hermione ground out.

The Mermaid produced an ear splitting shriek of a giggle, making even Myrtle wince. The aquatic girl wiggled her fins and made crude gestures with her fingers that raised Hermione's eyebrows.

"Yes, I'm sure an orgy would solve _all_ my problems," she said scathingly. "I only came in here to get a proper look at this necklace without everyone peering over my shoulder."

"What is it?" Myrtle asked despite herself.

Hermione held up the delicate gold chain. The pendant consisted of three roses, one with an ebony head, one with a pearl head, and one with a ruby head. The black rose and the white rose were entwined around the red rose.

"Oo-oh," Myrtle, Hermione and the mermaid sighed simultaneously.

"Date him!" Myrtle exclaimed, the mermaid nodding vehemently. "Stuff the dull redhead, date the rich boy!"

Hermione sighed. All the joy she had taken in the exquisite gift was instantly wiped away at the reminder of the choice she faced. Ron or Draco?

She had time for a bath before breakfast, didn't she? Anything for a little relaxation. God knows by the end of the day she'd be desperate for anything to soothe her frayed nerves.

* * *

Breakfast just confirmed Hermione's suspicions that this was going to be an absolutely terrible day. She was a bit late, hair still dripping, clothes a little crooked, and lying next to her plate was a bunch of twenty four red roses.

"Krum," Harry said dully.

"Oh no," Hermione moaned as she sat down.

"What's wrong?" Ron asked apprehensively.

"There was a melee in the dormitory this morning," Ginny explained. "Poor Hermione was chased out."

"Parvati and Lavender both got gifts," Hermione grumbled. "Why were mine so much more interesting?"

"Because Dean's been giving Lavender chocolates for three years now and Parvati sends herself half those gifts just to try and outdo her," Ginny grinned. "The only time Valentine's was ever a big thing here, for every one else anyway, was when Lockhart made that big deal out of it. I mean, have you ever sent a card? I know I haven't."

Ron was slowly turning a darker and deeper shade of red.

"I guess," Hermione said. "I suppose getting anything counts as a big deal." She grimaced. "Oh god, why me? I'm going to be the centre of attention for weeks!"

Ron slid down a few more inches in his seat, arms folded defensively across his chest.

"I think it's cool," Ginny insisted. "I mean, you've got chocolates, jewellery _and_ roses! It's all so traditional and sweet and romantic. You're the most sought after girl at school!"

"Certainly by the staff," said a cold voice behind her. "Perhaps it has escaped your notice, all of you, but the bell _has_ gone." Snape sneered. "I think a week's worth of detention each, for being late for lessons?"

Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Harry stared in dismay around the empty hall.

"How did we miss that?" Harry groaned. Ron, however, looked glad of the escape.

* * *

Hermione began to wonder whether someone was tinkering with her timetable. Some times it seemed like every other lesson was Arithmancy or Potions or DADA. No, more than that. It was like she couldn't escape Draco. At least in Arithmancy she was free of Ron, but Draco practically tailed her around the school. He didn't say anything to her, but she could feel his eyes on her constantly.

In Care of Magical Creatures he sidled up to her. They were all watching Hagrid demonstrate how to wash a phoenix as he handled an indignant Fawkes, Dumbledore watching from nearby. The class were sombre beneath the watchful eye of their headmaster. Hermione was distracted, watching Fawkes try to take lumps out of Hagrid's already impressively scarred arm as he drenched the firebird in water, when Draco came up behind her and slipped something into one of her hands. She turned to stare at him, but his eyes were fixed intently on the screaming bird.

Hermione glanced around and opened the card one handed, down by her side. Looking surreptitiously down, she saw it was plain white with gold writing. She sucked her breath in as she read it.

"Othello is a tragedy," she pointed out _sotto voce_.

"So is life," he said in the same soft tones. "Will you go out with me?"

"Draco," Hermione sighed, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Please?" he turned to look at her then, and her stomach flip-flopped.

"I don't know," she managed. Then, "I can't."

"Because of Ron," he stated, voice bleak. He returned his gaze to the irate phoenix.

"Because of everything." Hermione couldn't take her eyes off him. She could feel Ron watching them, Harry watching them, half the class watching them. Part of her wanted to throw her arms around Draco and kiss him senseless, a most un-Hermione-like feeling. Instead she steeled herself and made a point of watching the lesson, only saying out of the corner of her mouth: "meet me in the library after supper."

As the lesson ended and Draco had returned to 'his own kind', as Ron put it, the red head in question made a point of joining Hermione before she could escape to the relative solitary of the dorms. Harry kept away, whether out of tact or because he was still upset with Hermione, the girl couldn't work out. Whatever the reason, Hermione found herself cornered alone with the lanky Weasley.

"What did Malfoy say to you?" he asked, keeping his voice pleasant.

"Gave me another card," Hermione admitted.

"Can I. . . Do you mind if I look at it?" Ron asked awkwardly. Hermione, to the surprise of both, handed it over without a word. "'She loved me for the dangers I had passed, and I loved her, that she did pity them.'" He sighed and handed it back. "Where's the quote from?"

"A Muggle play," Hermione dismissed it. "It's Draco's way of saying he appreciates the sympathy I've shown him."

Ron shook his head. "Its Malfoy's way of saying he's chosen to interpret your actions as a sign that you love him. Arrogant bastard," he added, more out of a sense of tradition than any real malice.

"He asked me about Hogsmeade again," Hermione said. "At least, I think that's what he was referring to. He might have just been asking me out, full stop."

Ron closed his eyes.

"I said no," Hermione added.

"Yes!" Ro cheered under his breath. He opened his eyes too late to notice Hermione's amused look. "So. . ." he began hopefully, but his face fell at Hermione's pained expression. "I guess not, then," he sighed.

"I don't know!" Hermione snapped. She rubbed the heel of her palm across her forehead, wiping away the irritated frown. "I'm sorry, Ron, but I really don't. I want to say yes to both of you, and I can't do that because it will make me unhappy. So then I want to say yes to one of you, but then the other's unhappy. So instead I find myself saying no to both of you, which means none of us are happy."

Ron stared at the ground. "Is this a subtle hint that I should back off and, if I really love you, let you be happy with Draco? Because I'm not good with subtle, and I'm not good with letting you date Malfoy."

Hermione smiled. "No, it isn't," she reassured him warmly, reaching out and squeezing his hand. "I wouldn't do that to you. I don't know how I'd feel about you as a boyfriend, but I know I love you too much as a friend to do that to you."

Ron smiled back. "If I'd known you were going to be that nice about it, I'd have told you how I felt years ago."

"Years?" Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "Oh god, Ron, I had no idea!"

Ron shrugged awkwardly. "Yeah, well, you were one of my best friends. I didn't want to screw that up. I kept kinda hoping it would go away, I guess."

Hermione couldn't help but smiled. "You're one of the sweetest people I've ever known," she told him sincerely. "Almost as sweet as those caramel creams," she added.

Ron grinned at her. "You liked them? I wasn't sure if I was doing the right thing, especially after this morning."

Hermione grimaced. "I'm sorry, I overreacted a bit this morning. It's just this is all so much at once. I didn't expect it when I began this year. Maybe I should have, but romance simply wasn't something I ever thought about, except in vague terms. You know, something for the future."

Ron chuckled. "Yeah, it does that. Sneaks up on ya. Sneaky like that."

"Yes, very sneaky," Hermione nodded solemnly. Her mouth twitched.

"Bad, sneaky feelings. Naughty hormones," Ron grinned.

"Naughty," Hermione echoed, giggling.

They looked at each other, and both started to laugh uproariously, standing in the middle of the corridor. It was a release. Ron felt the relief of the revelation of his crush on Hermione, and Hermione was relaxed in the knowledge that Ron wouldn't force a decision from her, friends as they were and would always be, no matter what.

"Do you want some of those chocolates?" Hermione asked. "I've still got plenty left. Been too upset to eat much today."

"After lunch," Ron told her. "Come on. Everything'll be gone by the time we get there if we don't hurry up."

"Sure," Hermione said sardonically. "Because the refilling plates will cease to work simply because we're not there."

"Didn't you know? Without us nothing works around here!"

* * *

If you had asked her, Hermione wouldn't have been able to say what lesson she had after lunch that day. Could have been Japanese for Beginners, for all she remembered. Eating Ron's chocolates, fingering Draco's necklace and arranging Victor's flowers, she tried to calm the storm in her thoughts. She'd told Ginny to tell the others she wasn't going down for dinner. The chocolates would keep her stomach from whining too much and she wasn't really in the mood for company.

She had to make a choice, but there was no solution where everyone got to be happy, which was the only thing she actually wanted. And the worst part was, the absence of a solution also made people unhappy. There was no way around this without upsetting people. It was like some horribly complicated maths puzzle, where x had to equal y, 52 and v13.

Ron's scrawled and blotted card lay on her bed, next to Draco's carefully crafted calligraphy and Victor's printed note. As much as she cared for Victor, Hermione knew she could dismiss him. The age difference bothered her more than she had let on to the Bulgarian, and sweet as he was he wasn't what she was looking for. He lacked the sharp wit she exchanged with Draco and the down to earth common sense Ron shared with her.

She had to meet Draco in the library soon. It had never occurred to her, when she arranged that meeting, that she wouldn't have an answer for him.

Hermione sighed and put down the chocolates. She knew the answer. She always had done. It was just a question of saving someone's feelings.


	26. Chapter the TwentyFifth

**Chapter the Twenty-Fifth **

Hermione almost changed her mind. She had homework and while she would have plenty of time on Sunday to do it, well, one could never be certain, right? It wasn't a lot of homework, but if she wanted to get things absolutely correct....

There was a silk rose next to her breakfast plate. Judging from the glare Ron was giving the flower it wasn't from him. She stroked the delicate petals. They were almost alone at the table. The Gryffindors weren't the kind of people to get up early if they didn't have to.

"It's him, isn't it?" Ron asked shortly.

Hermione wanted to blush. She wanted to stammer an apology. She wanted to change her mind. She wanted to change herself.

"Yes," she said, the epitome of calm.

"Why?" Ron asked, defeated. Hermione was relieved at how well he was taking it.

"He needs me more," Hermione said slowly. "He's had the ground ripped out from under him. I know he's not the most attractive person, or the nicest, but he's trying very hard."

"A pity date?" Ron asked. Hermione frowned. Was that disgust in his voice or smug triumph?

"No," Hermione admitted. "I've seen him at his best and worst, I think. There's a kind of security in that. I've never seen you at anything other than your best," she smiled. "Maybe that's your worst as well."

Ron looked pleased despite himself. "Yeah, well..."

"You do understand, don't you, that this is just one date?" Hermione reached out and squeezed his hand.

"You do understand it isn't?" Ron asked in a rather colder tone. "I can't pretend to understand why you're doing this, Hermione. You _have_ seen the worse side of him. Just because it hasn't surfaced in this past year doesn't mean it's gone. He's being nice to you, sure, but you prove to me he's doing it for anything other than selfish reasons. You've convinced yourself he's going to act this way forever when you're doing your best to help him out of this strange mood. When you've managed that you're going to find you're draped over the arm of a prejudiced, ugly, ignorant git."

"And when that happens I'll come to you and you can say 'I told you so'," Hermione told him, getting up. "But I honestly don't think you'll get that chance. Draco Malfoy _has_ changed."

Ron just shook his head and watched her walk away. There wasn't much else left to do now. He saw Malfoy follow her out of the room and refused to respond to the smug grin the blond shot him.

Hermione wasn't surprised when Draco caught her elbow and swung around to face her. He looked like a puppy that had seen the leash and was begging for confirmation of his hopes.

Right in front of the stairs, where sleeping students were gathering and grouping and making their way to breakfast, Hermione kissed him.

Ignoring the gasps and giggles Hermione was pleased with the result. Draco's eyes had lit up like _lumos_. It had just been a quick peck but now the school was quivering with the news that _Draco Malfoy, _Mudblood hater, and _Hermione Granger, _Malfoy hater, had been_ making out_ in front of _everyone_. Draco reached on arm around her waist and hugged her briefly. Then he gave her a peck on the cheek.

"I'll come up to your common room at ten," he promised. Hermione looked a bit surprised. "We don't want to run out of things to do before lunch," Draco pointed out reasonably.

So Hermione found herself hiding in her own dormitory as Lavender, Parvati and Ginny hunted her with Sleakeazy and Lipglimmer and something it had taken Hermione several seconds to recognise as a dress. There didn't seem to be quite enough material to warrant that description.

Ginny found her, sitting in the bottom of the wardrobe. Light had been leaking through the cracks.

"Doing your homework by wandlight!" Ginny laughed. "You have a date, Hermione."

"With Draco Malfoy!" Lavender squealed. Ginny and Hermione flinched at the indescribably high-pitched sound and shared a look.

"Why don't you come into my year's dorm?" Ginny whispered. "Everyone else is out. We can lock the door and you don't have to put on anything you don't want to."

"How do we distract them?" Hermione managed to murmur in Ginny's ear as overenthusiastic teenaged girls hauled her from her hiding place.

Ginny ran to the window. "Oh my god, is that Randy Dubois, Witch Weekly's hunk of the month?!" she shrieked, managing to hit an octave even Lavender couldn't attempt. "I heard he was doing tours of all the major schools!"

And suddenly Hermione and Ginny were alone.

"Who's Randy Dubois?" Hermione asked curiously as she clambered to her feet.

Ginny shrugged. "Guy we met in Egypt, on holiday. Absolutely huge American," she giggled. "Couldn't fit through the door of the tomb!"

Hermione snorted with laughter. "Honestly, Ginny," she chuckled.

"Come on," Ginny jerked her head towards to door. "The speed those two moved they'll have figured out by now there's no one of interest out there. You probably don't want to lock them out of here."

As they descended the stairs Hermione glanced at Ginny. "How do you lock a dormitory door anyway?" she asked curiously. "And why?"

To Hermione's surprise and horror, Ginny blushed. "One of the boy's discovered it. They're designed to lock in an emergency, you see, after Sirius broke in. This guy showed me, when we wanted a little, um, privacy." She saw the look on Hermione's face. "I don't know what you're thinking, but I haven't done it!" Ginny objected vehemently.

"So what did you need the privacy for?" Hermione asked sharply.

"He was worried about what people would think if they saw us together. Note the lack of name I'm supplying here," Ginny gestured expressively.

"Hey, no," Hermione stopped her as they entered the room. "I'm going on a date with _Draco Malfoy_. No way do you get to have a secret boyfriend."

"Oh my god, Hermione Granger digging for gossip," Ginny pretended to look horrified. She pushed the door shut with one hand and slid the heavy bolt across. Hermione gaped at it.

"I have a bolt on my door at home," she frowned. "Why..."

"Oh, they've been charmed not to respond to any opening spells," Ginny said dismissively. "I guess if you hit the door harder enough it would open, but otherwise we're alone here."

"Seems like a lot of places around here have bolts," Hermione mused out loud, remembering Ron's recitation of his trip to Hogsmeade on her behalf.

"Sometimes physical protection is far stronger than anything magical," Ginny shrugged. "I put a bolt on my door at home, once I managed to convince dad to get it for me. It was an 'experiment'," she winked knowingly.

Hermione laughed. "So… who is it?" she pressed, sitting down on Ginny's bed. "Who's the mystery man. Because you know I'm just getting my own back here."

"I never bugged you about Draco," Ginny reprimanded her.

Hermione sighed. "Don't you trust me?" she asked, fighting the urge to wheedle.

Ginny smiled. "You're one of the people he asked me not to tell," she said, almost sadly. "Now, do you want the Sleakeazy?"

Hermione nodded. "Why not?" she sighed. "If it didn't take so long to apply I'd probably use it every day."

"Any clothes in mind?" Ginny asked as she started raking the gloop through Hermione's hair. It dried instantly and the hair flattened and smoothed like it had been ironed.

"What I was wearing?" Hermione suggested nervously.

Ginny looked her over. It was typical Hermione. Sensible trousers, a weak blue, sensible long sleeved top, for the cold weather, and a sensible blue cardigan with flower shaped buttons. Her shoes were sensible and flat.

"You look really nice," Ginny reassured her.

"Nice?"

"I don't know Malfoy," Ginny told her. "I mean, I was kind rooting for my brother here."

Hermione flinched.

"I don't mind helping you," Ginny went on hastily. "What are friends for, right?" She grinned and hugged Hermione from the back, getting a face full of liquid hair-straightener for her trouble. "Anyway, you know Malfoy better than I do. Do you think he'll like it?"

Hermione tugged at her skirt. "Oh, I see," she sighed. "I need to wear something more unusual?"

"Special," Ginny corrected. "There's that necklace he gave you, isn't there?"

"Oh, I'm definitely wearing that," Hermione smiled. She looked down at her outfit. "I don't really have anything more interesting than this though," she sighed.

"How about a skirt?" Ginny suggested. "I've got one that would match your cardigan."

"Oh, that's pretty," Hermione smiled as Ginny held up a knee length satin skirt, decorated with lavender cabbage roses. "But I'll be so paranoid about ruining it."

"You spill something on it, you clean it," Ginny grinned. "Or find Dobby and ask him. He's good with clothes."

"I'll bet he is, judging by Draco's 'casual' clothes," Hermione laughed. "In the Muggle world he'd been able to keep an entire street of dry cleaners and laundrettes in business with a week's washing."

"So the skirt, yes?" Ginny handed it over. "You'll look so cute," she enthused. "Not too un-Hermione."

The skirt was a little tighter on Hermione than on Ginny and it clung to her legs when she moved. Ginny's eyebrows shot up as Hermione walked across the room, making Hermione's brow crease in confusion. Ginny leered at her and Hermione caught sight of her reflection. She found herself trying to stare at her own bum, turning around a few times in the process. Ginny burst out laughing.

"He won't be able to take his eyes off you," she reassured Hermione.

Hermione laughed wryly. "Sure," she grinned. "I look like I normally do, but in a tighter skirt."

"Heels would go well, though I don't have any that match," Ginny mused.

"No way," Hermione shook her head. "One, I can't walk in them and two, I'd be taller than Draco. Not the best start." They shared a laugh.

"You could wear a low cut top," Ginny raised her eyebrows suggestively.

"Um, _no_. I'll think I'll stick to this. I hope it's not too cold," Hermione smoothed the skirt nervously.

"If it is, making him lend you his cloak," Ginny shrugged casually.

"Oh, what if I look too Muggle?" Hermione stared at her reflection, aghast.

There was a knock on the door. "Hermione, you in there?" Lavender managed to convey her disappointment at losing her living doll even through the heavy wood of the door.

"Yes," Hermione said slowly.

"Malfoy's waiting for you downstairs. I think Potter and Weasley might kill him if you leave it too long." Lavender sighed. "It's your fault for hiding, you know. Now you're going to have to go as you are."

Hermione pulled the bolt back and opened the door. "I quite like how I look," she said calmly.

"You're not even wearing any make-up!" Lavender wailed as Hermione strode past her and down into the common room.

Draco was leaning against the wall next to the portrait. Harry and Ron were sitting by the fire, ostensibly playing a game of wizard chess. Judging by the irritation of the pieces they weren't paying much attention, moving any piece any how, sometimes each other's by accident, and occasionally missing the board altogether.

Hermione took a deep breath and steeled herself. She smiled at Draco, who smiled back, but she went to Ron and Harry first.

"You look fine," Ron said before she could get a word out.

"Thank you," Hermione smiled. "It means a lot to hear that from you." She smoothed down the skirt again and plucked at the sleeve of her cardigan as she wondered how best to phrase the half formed thought that had prompted her to go to them. "I don't want you to be angry about this," she told them. "I don't think I could bear it if you turned out to be that kind of people. I love both of you dearly."

Ron smiled wearily. "'Please don't be mad at me,'" he said in a faintly mocking falsetto. "Hermione," he dropped the imitation, "don't even think about asking us to be okay with this. It's_ Draco Malfoy._"

"I know," she sighed. "But, well, just remember it's_ me_, too."

There wasn't anything else left to be said. Harry was still staring resolutely past her and Ron had turned to the chessboard, now concentrating on sorting out the mess he and Harry had made of the game. Hermione ran her hands down her skirt one last time and turned to join Draco, who held out one elbow for her. Slipping her hand through his arm she let herself be led away.


	27. Chapter the TwentySixth

**Chapter the Twenty-Sixth **

"If you want to go back..." Draco said before they were even out of the grounds.

"No," Hermione sighed. She'd pulled her arm away from his shortly after putting it there. "I want to do this. Up until about five minutes ago I was really looking forwards to it."

"It's just Potty... Potter and Weasley," Draco corrected himself, earning a smile.

"Considering how badly this must be hurting Ron he's taken it surprisingly well," Hermione said.

"But Potter's still freezing you out," Draco finished for her. "You know, he's digging for excuses now. I know the feeling. He wants to be angry with you, so Weasley's pain is helping him. He's not mad you for you any more."

"How can you be so certain?" Hermione asked.

"He pretty much came and told me so," Draco shrugged. "We exchanged insults for quite a while before Weasley turned up and he retreated to those ratty arm chairs."

"So he's angry with me for going out with you," Hermione sighed. "Which is pretty much what I had assumed before I remembered everything else."

A little nervously, Draco reached down and took her hand in his, squeezing it. "It'll be okay," he managed, each word of the lie so many people had told him bitter on his tongue. He understood why they said it now, though. Sometimes the lie needed to be told, erecting a paper-thin wall against reality just for as long as it was needed, or until reality knocked it away.

"I'm sure it will," Hermione said dully. The partner lie. She squeezed back. "I'm kinda ruining this, aren't I?"

"No," Draco smiled. "See, this isn't supposed to be the fun bit yet. It's okay if you're down at the moment. I expected it, in a way. The bit where you forget all about both of those gits comes a bit later, and your mind will be filled with pretty happy me."

Hermione laughed.

* * *

"I bet he's taken her somewhere really expensive," Ron said glumly.

"_Are _there any really expensive places in Hogsmeade?" Harry frowned.

"Or a bookshop. He'll take her to an antique bookshop and buy her the oldest and rarest book there."

"The bookshop in Hogsmeade only sells school texts," Ginny pointed out.

"Or he'll do _something_," Ron said pointedly, "that depends on him being rich and having connections and I'll never be able to match."

They were sitting in the Gryffindor common room. It was getting dark outside and the fir was crackling merrily to dispel the February chill. Hermione wasn't back yet, and Ginny's concerned observation of such had sparked this whole conversation.

"Jealous?" Harry laughed. "You think _you _have it hard," he added bitterly.

"I'm beginning to understand why Hermione doesn't want to talk to you," Ron said coldly. "Do you remember that talk we had where you stop acting like you're the centre of the universe?"

"You don't understand what I'm going through," Harry said sulkily.

"Because you won't explain," Ginny sighed in frustration. "So either you explain or you cheer up and get over it. Today is about Ron. Don't make it about you."

"You don't suppose that sticking with Harry helped scupper my chances with Hermione, do you?" Ron asked suddenly. "Only, she wasn't too happy about it." He shot an apologetic glance at Harry. "She really thinks it would be better for you if we left you to yourself for a while. I'm not quite clear on her reasoning, but I think it's something along the lines of you're taking us for granted and don't see how much we're doing for you."

Harry opened his mouth to object but Ginny slammed a hand over it. He made a muffled complaint.

"Oh god," Ron moaned suddenly. Ginny and Harry stared at him in alarm. "I bet they've gone to the shrieking shack and at this very moment are having mad hot passionate teen sex."

"I know Hermione and I haven't been talking much recently, but I hadn't realised she'd turned into Pansy Parkinson," Harry said.

"Harry has a point," Ginny smiled.

"So what do you think they're doing?" Ron asked.

"Well," Harry said slowly, clearly thinking about it, "I suppose, knowing Malfoy, he's taken her somewhere very expensive. Let's say there's a restaurant in Hogsmeade, one none of us have been to. I mean, why would we have? And it would explain where all the Slytherins go.

"He'd take her to this restaurant and pay for everything, probably order oysters and lobster and some bizarre chocolate desert. Expensive stuff. He'd want to show off that he's wealthier than you. That's the only edge he's got, really. And afterwards he'd take her shopping, to show off his money some more. Probably give her a ride on his expensive broom back here."

Ginny shook her head. "No, he knows that money doesn't impress her. Besides, he's been brought up not to flash cash quite like that. It's too New Money. Besides, there's no expensive restaurant in Hogsmeade. Come on, who'd go there? It would go out of business in a matter of days."

"So what do you think's going on?" Ron asked dully.

"I think," Ginny thought, "that he'd go for the romantic angle. Oh, the money would still help, but I think he'd play more on the family name, especially since he has no family any more, not really. He'd get a bit of pity that way.

"So he'd take her to Madam Puddifoot's, because that's _the_ place to go for Valentine's, and buy her those really creamy buns and hot chocolate and so on. He'd probably give her something then, a little something, maybe some expensive chocolates made by a company his family have ties with. He'd use those connections in Madam Puddifoot's, too, to get that table next to the window in the corner on the second floor, the one almost no one gets because it's the most secluded with the best view.

"They'd talk about his family, and he'd say something about how, with most girls, he'd have done what Harry suggested. He'd imply Hermione was special, and that he likes her for who she is. He'd talk about how she knows him better than anyone else does as well. They'll do a lot of talking, because it's what they do.

"Then he'll take her outside again, and tell her that he'd really thought about what they were going to do, and decided to do something simple. They'd go up to those meadows on the path up to the Shrieking Shack and he'd pick wild flowers for her and recite poetry. Probably Muggle poetry, to show how much he's changed."

"Wait, what meadows?" Ron frowned.

"The fields," Harry said.

"What, those really scabby ones where only dead grass grows?" Ron frowned. "And besides, it's February. Not only will there be no wild flowers, but the whole place will be a huge boggy mess. Heh," he laughed bitterly, "I hope they do go there. Malfoy will be sucked into the peat and never seen again."

"Well, the idea still stands," Ginny pouted. "He'd be romantic."

"What do you think they're doing?" Harry asked Ron.

"I told you," he said roughly. "Having mad hot passionate-"

"-teen sex," Ginny finished for him

"He could have used a spell to seduce her," Ron said sulkily.

Harry and Ginny exchanged a look. Ron was being swallowed by the old arm chair, arms folded, knees drawn up, face a mass of shadows. His voice was bitter and envious. Ginny wondered if this was the way Ron had felt when he told Draco he was dying, and whether he'd do the same again and not suffer the regret this time.

"So what would you have done?" Ginny asked softly.

Ron sighed and leant his head back. Stretching out, legs unfolding like some complicated machinery and he folded his hands behind his head.

"We would have gone to the bookshop," he said calmly. "I'd have a bag with me, but I wouldn't tell her what was in it, and I wouldn't let her guess. When we got to the bookshop, I'd get out my copy of 'Hogwarts, A History' while she browsed. I'd exchange my copy for the new and revised edition, which I'd give to Hermione.

"She'd want to read it immediately. Instead, I'd take it back from her and put it in my bag. She'd object to me carrying it for her, but I'd insist because I'd have a bag and she wouldn't. Then we'd start walking.

"The weather's not been as good as it could be recently, but the path I'd take is more rocky than earth, so it wouldn't be too muddy. She'd be wearing sensible shoes, because she's Hermione. She might get a bit chilly, so I'd lend her my coat. She'd laugh, because it's cliché, but she'd accept it. It would take us about an hour to reach my planned destination. I'd let her go first, and just before we got there I'd take a camera out of my bag.

"I'd take her picture while she was still staring. See, I'd have taken her to the footpath pass between this and the next valley. It's empty of people, but there's a lake to rival Hogwarts' there and the scenery is beautiful. It's where dad took mum on their first date."

Ginny sighed dreamily.

"I'd open the bag then, properly, and I'd have brought a picnic. Mostly sensible food, because you can't take cream buns up a mountain, but there would be a few sweet treats. Nothing too Valentiney. She'd want to know where I'd got it from, and I'd tell her truthfully that it was the house-elves, but I'd have asked just Dobby and Winky and Mitty if she's still around and willing to help a Weasley, and any other help would have been volunteered. She can't object to voluntary work; it's unpaid anyway. And we'd eat the picnic and read 'Hogwarts, a History' and take each other's pictures and lots of pictures of the view on both sides, the other valley and our valley.

"We'd leave before it got dark, but because it still gets dark quite early by the time we reached Hogsmeade again it would probably be dusk. We'd got to the Three Broomsticks for a pick-me-up before the trek back to the castle. We'd pay half and half, because Hermione thinks it's not fair for men to pay for everything. The only way she'd agree to that would be if I told her she could pay for everything on the next date. I'd bring that up, but we'd probably agree to half-and-half anyway.

"We'd have dinner there; they do a good hotpot that's real value for money. We'd share a desert. I could have taken her to Madam Puddifoot's, but that's all too sweet and sickly for Hermione. Not her kind of place at all. You two would probably be down at the Broomsticks as well, so when we were done eating the four of us could walk back together. Hermione would be enthusing about the picnic and the views, and I'd probably hold her hand, if she let me."

Ron sighed heavily. Ginny bit her lip hard and surreptitiously swiped tears from her eyes. Harry looked slightly stunned. The three sat in silence until the portrait door could be heard creaking, and Hermione, flushed from the sudden change from cold to hot and smiling shyly, slipped through.

Ron glanced at the clock on the wall. "You're back later than I'd thought you'd be," he said, voice very carefully level. To his relief, her clothes were clean and the buttons still in place.

"We ate at the Three Broomsticks," Hermione explained awkwardly.

"You missed a nice dinner," Ginny said. "Roast duck."

"Oh, pity," Hermione said. She didn't look unduly upset.

"So what did you two do?" Ron asked.

If it had been anyone else, Hermione would have ducked the question to spare Ron's feelings, but apparently he didn't want his feelings spared. Still, better to play down quite how much she'd enjoyed herself.

"We went to the bookshop first, then for a walk and a picnic. After that, we came back, had dinner, and then he walked me back here." Hermione rocked nervously on her heels. Harry wasn't looking at her, and Ginny looked like Hermione had just said Draco had taken her into the Forbidden Forest and raped her.

"Did you have fun?" Ron asked, voice strange. He sounded, to Hermione's mind, almost desperate. And she couldn't lie, no matter how much he wanted to hear her say she'd hated it all.

"Yes," Hermione said. "It was very pleasant."

"I'm glad," Ron said, voice relieved.

Hermione frowned at him in confusion and sighed. "Thank you," she said, sentiment heartfelt. "I'm a bit tired after all that walking, so I guess I'll see you all tomorrow." She smiled weakly and left the small party, hugging her new copy of 'Hogwarts, A History' to her chest and trying not to look at them.

Harry, Ron and Ginny exchanged looks.

"You still know her better," Harry offered. "And at least we know that it would definitely have been a good date."

Ron gave him a cold, dark look.


	28. Chapter the TwentySeventh

**Chapter the Twenty-Seventh **

_A/N: It's not the best chapter ever, I can admit. The first half and the second were written months apart. But they were written, and teh editting completed, and hopefully that ought to help DD get going again. It's just over a year old now, did you know that? I now have two epic fics that have celebrated a first birthday. And having started an X-men one, I suspect it may become three one day, though let's pray none ever reach their second birthdays uncompleted, shall we?_

Draco cornered her in the library and kissed her amongst the books. For Hermione, that was more romantic than any illicit trip to the astronomy tower. He'd taken to doing things like this when there weren't many people around, and it made part of Hermione squeal and faint like a romantic damsel, heaving bosom and all. She found herself taking long lonely walks around the castle, just in case they ran into each other. It was just romantic, that was all. Draco was the kind of boy who'd been brought up to believe romance was the cornerstone of a relationship.

But when she got back, she'd have to face Ron. He believed friendship was the cornerstone of a relationship, and Hermione appreciated that just as much as romance. He wasn't bothering to be happy for her, but he was still trying to be pleasant. Harry wasn't saying a word on principle, but Hermione was giving up on him anyway. Ron still broke her heart though.

So during that brief kiss in the library Hermione pulled away and left Draco standing confused. She screwed her eyes shut and wrapped her arms around herself and wished the world would just _change_. Draco hovered.

"It's Ron."

"It's Ron," Hermione sighed.

"He's a bastard for doing this to you," Draco offered.

"No he isn't!" Hermione turned on him. "He isn't and he's my friend and he's _trying_ and why can't I just feel like this for him? Why can't I still hate you and love him and have everything the way it must have been meant to be?" Tears glistened in her eyes.

"You think that was meant to be?" Draco asked in surprise.

Hermione shrugged miserably. "Doesn't it make so much more sense?" she asked softly.

"You know, all those books and stories had left me with the impression that none of this really made sense, ever," Draco told her.

"We're sensible people," Hermione said with a touch of desperation in her voice. "We ought to be able to make sense of this. But I just _can't_."

"You shouldn't be tearing yourself up about this," Draco said in alarm. "Please."

Hermione shuddered. "There's only one way to stop it, though, isn't there?"

"Don't ask me to be altruistic," Draco said bluntly. "I'm terrible at it. I'm damn close to happy here, and, well, I don't really care if Weasley is miserable. He deserves it," he added bitterly, thinking back to those weeks before Christmas, curled up in the infirmary. "But I do care if you're unhappy. So the solution I propose is we keep going out until Weasley gets over it. That way I'm happy, you're happy, eventually, and, well, I already said I don't care about him."

"Draco," Hermione sighed.

"I know, I know. But I'm not just letting you end this," he said firmly.

"End what?" Hermione asked shrewdly. "Only, we've been on one date and kissed a few times."

"That's a something," Draco said firmly. "Unless the rumour mill has had it wrong about you for the past few years."

Hermione shook her head. "I just..."

"I know," Draco sighed. "I guess it's my turn to worry about you incessantly, yes?"

Hermione shook her head, but when Draco wrapped his arms around her she didn't resist.

* * *

Ron paced around the Gryffindor common room, stepping over first years playing chess on the floor and on top of a second year's abandoned books. Ginny frowned at him, but didn't comment. Harry watched him sympathetically.

Ron stopped in front of them. "I want to talk to you two," he said. "Let's go somewhere more private." He made for the dormitory stairs, but Ginny grabbed his arm and led him through the portrait hole.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked as he led them through the halls.

"Room of requirement, silly," Ginny hissed.

Ron pushed open the door and actually laughed. For a moment Ginny took it for a promising sign, but the cold undertones reminded her of someone else's laugh, and for a moment she couldn't move. Harry tugged her inside, and to her relief, amongst the padded walls and spyglasses there was a large soft toy for her to wrap her arms around. Neither boy commented, but they did exchange looks.

Ron leant against a wall, running a hand across the sound proofing.

"Do you think…" he said slowly, "we should tell Hermione about Lucius Malfoy's escape?"

For a moment, Harry thought Ron had gone mad. Then he remembered that no, Hermione didn't know. And that felt wrong, because it was strange having a secret like that and not including her. Even when they fought the three of them always shared information that huge. It tended to be one of the factors in making up.

That decided Harry. "No."

"I think yes," Ginny said immediately. "She needs to know in case he comes looking for Draco."

"That's what I thought," Ron said. "Will she believe us though?"

"Why wouldn't she?" Ginny asked.

"Because she's a suspicious bi-" Harry actually stopped himself. "She'd be suspicious," he finished lamely.

Ron nodded. "I can't tell her," he pointed out.

"I can't!" Harry snapped.

Ginny stared from one to the other. "I know I said I thought it was a good idea, but I really wasn't intending to do it myself."

"I'm still not convinced it is a good idea," Ron sighed. "Dad did say to keep it a secret. I mean, it's a huge secret."

Harry knew he was about to voice the most unpopular opinion possible. "Should we tell Draco first?"

"When did you start calling him Draco?" Ron stared at him.

Ginny stared at him. "Surely he's got to know already," she said. "I mean, Dumbledore must have told him."

"Suppose no one told Dumbledore," Harry said sickly.

Ron shook his head firmly. "They're both in the Order of the Phoenix," he pointed out, "and Malfoy was a Death Eater. Dad would have told him."

"But if Dumbledore thought Malfoy was going to runaway to find his father he wouldn't say anything, would he?" Harry said. "And I'm still surprised Malfoy hasn't run away anyway."

"Well, we know what's keeping him here, don't we?" Ron said darkly.

"Harry's got a point," Ginny admitted. "It's in Draco's best interests if he doesn't know. He's still unstable."

"What if he tries to kill Harry?" Ron swallowed. "He was going on about it at the end of last term."

"But he hasn't made a move at all," Harry pointed out, surprised at being the rational one. "If he was going to he'd have tried _something_ by now."

"He was depressed," Ron pointed out. "Suicidally so. If he thinks he's got a chance of putting his family back together he might be willing to do anything."

"You mean, if his dad asked him?" Ginny asked.

"If his dad asks him, then Malfoy will know he's alive," Harry said, trying to get back to the original point. "So we don't have to worry about telling him."

"Yeah, but that doesn't solve the problem of whether he'd seek his father out," Ginny said.

"Well, as Ron pointed out," Harry said awkwardly, "he's got Hermione keeping him here."

Ginny glanced over at her older brother and held out the teddy bear. He smiled weakly and accepted it. There was an uncomfortable silence.

"What will Hermione say when she realises how long we've known?" Ginny asked eventually.

"Does she have to know?" Ron asked.

Ginny grimaced. "She'll find out, sooner or later. She's _Hermione."_

"She's got a point," Harry admitted.

"Well, things have hardly been chummy, have they? She'll understand," Ron said crossly.

"And it's her fault that things are as they are," Harry backed up his best friend vehemently.

Ginny looked doubtful. She missed Hermione, badly. She couldn't fill her role in the usual threesome, and she didn't really want to. She missed hanging out with her own friends. Sibling support could only stretch so far, and she was losing interest in Harry's secrets. She sympathised with Hermione. The girl had a right to date who she liked, and she certainly seemed to have the most sensible attitude to Harry right now.

"It's not her fault Draco's dad is a Death Eater and his mum's a cow," she said softly. "It's not her fault Draco's been a git the whole time he's been here, and it's not her fault she feels sorry for him now she knows more."

"Hell, _I_ feel sorry for him," Ron snapped, "but _I'm_ not dating him!"

Ginny saw something flicker on Harry's face. Strange. "He's not that bad looking," she went on wretchedly. "He seems capable of being alright when he wants to. You guys managed to get on with him while he was staying in our tower."

"That's different!" Harry insisted. "Who's side are you on?"

"Well, hers," Ginny sighed. "I'll tell her about Lucius, shall I?" She waited for Ron to explode at her.

"I guess someone's got to take her side," her brother said dully. "You're not going to stop talking to us too, are you?"

"Hermione's still talking to you," Ginny said, uncomfortably aware that she was addressing only Ron. "You're not talking to her."

"I can't, not when she's got the slimy bastard attached to her," Ron said miserably. "And when she hasn't, you can still feel him around, like a bad smell."

"You're making her unhappy," Ginny told him.

"She's making herself unhappy," Harry broke in. "All she has to do is dump Draco and it all goes back to normal."

"She stopped talking to you before she started going out with him," Ginny mumbled.

"Tell her to dump him," Harry went on unhearing. "Tell her about Lucius and suggest she dump him."

"She won't," Ginny said helplessly.

"Not if you give her another reason to feel sorry for him, no," Ron agreed. "So we're decided then, we don't tell Hermione about Lucius Malfoy's escape."

Ginny stared at him incredulously. "So… what? I just tell her to dump him?"

"Yes," Harry said eagerly.

"Why? I don't want to make her feel worse. She's my friend!" Ginny was baffled.

"We know that," Ron told her. "If she dumps him, she'll start feeling better. No guilt."

"She'll feel guilty for dumping him. What if she dumps him and then he does run off with his dad?"

"Then she'll know he was worthless scum," Harry told her. "Just try to persuade her."

"Do you miss her?" Ginny asked suddenly.

Ron answered yes immediately, but Harry seemed unable to speak. Ginny watched him fight himself.

"Let me answer for you," Ginny interrupted just as he was forming 'no'. "Yes."

Harry shook his head, mute with anger.

"Harry, you wouldn't be angry at her for shutting you out if you didn't want her to stop, and you want her to stop because you miss her," Ginny said commandingly. "She's your best friend. If you think she's hurting you, not helping you, tell her. Tell her calmly and rationally. Convince her that by supporting you she'll help you more."

"I won't work," Harry said sulkily. "Every time I try to talk to her she walks away."

"You're not in love with her too, are you?" Ron asked suddenly.

Harry burst out laughing. "No, Ron, no I'm not." He grinned at his best friend. "This is all getting rather stupid, isn't it?"

Ginny rolled her eyes.

"So… did we decide we were telling Hermione or not?" Ron frowned.

"I'm telling her," Ginny sighed theatrically. "And you two are going to make efforts to be friends with her again. That's the deal."

Harry looked pensive and Ron frustrated, but they both agreed. Efforts didn't have to pay off. They could be nice without getting too close and too hurt. Ron couldn't say no to his little sister, any more than any of his brothers could. And Ginny had learnt that a very long time ago.


	29. Chapter the TwentyEighth

Chapter the Twenty-Eighth

The conversation with Hermione went differently from how Ginny expected. She was tempted to say better, but she felt she was already risking accuracy just by saying 'conversation'. Hermione had sat silently, drinking Ginny's words in. Her silence had encouraged Ginny to talk more than she meant to, and she even found herself revealing the debate with Harry and Ron over whether she ought to be told.

"I'm surprised," Hermione said blandly. "I would have thought it was a no-brainer."

Ginny opened her mouth and closed it again. "I have no idea what you mean," she admitted. "It seemed really hard to decide to me."

"Ron was against telling me, yes?"

"I think so." Ginny wrinkled her nose. "It kinda changed. A lot."

"A sign of a good debate," Hermione sighed. She was sitting on Ginny's bed, her hands in her lap, head bowed slightly. The submissiveness scared Ginny a little. Something had changed. Something had happened.

"He told you, didn't he?" Ginny breathed. "Draco knew and he told you."

"A few hours ago." Hermione's mouth twisted into a wry smile at the irony.

"Hermione, what happened?" Ginny asked. She was really beginning to worry.

"Ron spied on us, before Christmas, and then he told Draco he was going to die," Hermione said heavily.

Ginny almost laughed with relief. "I know," she told Hermione. "He was tearing himself up about it. Felt really bad."

Hermione's expression flickered. "He should," she said eventually.

Ginny felt her relief evaporate. "Hermione, he's just a boy. Just a boy who really likes you, and who really hates Malfoy."

"But to sink to those levels, his levels," Hermione breathed.

"Who's levels?" Ginny said sharply. Hermione paled. "Malfoy's levels, right?"

Hermione stared at her lap, fingers twining together and fiddling and fidgeting.

"I don't understand who you're doing this," Ginny sighed. "I mean, I look at you and Draco and you're happy. And I'm happy for you. I just wonder sometimes if Draco and Malfoy aren't two different people for you."

"I can't reconcile it in my own mind," Hermione murmured. Ginny sat next to her and leant in so as to hear her. "I get so mad at Ron because the behaviour is cruel. It's out of character. And it's not that I don't get mad at Draco, it's not that I don't get mad when I think back at everything he's done either, but it is in character for him and somehow I accept that. I'm trying to change him," she sighed. "And I feel bad for it."

"He needs changing," Ginny reassured her. "Mum always says she had to change dad a lot before she could even think of marrying him. Had to get him housebroken," she grinned. Hermione caught the smile and offered a weak shadow of her own. "You can change him. You have." Ginny squeezed Hermione's hand. "And it's fine to be mad at Ron, but it did happen a long time ago now, and he really was incredibly sorry. So sorry he was sick!"

"Wow," Hermione said softly.

"Malfoy's not so bad. He's just had the wrong influences. Everyone can see he's better. Well, except the Slytherins."

"What if his dad comes for him?"

Ginny stared at their entwined hands for a moment before speaking. "You know him better than I do," she said quietly, "but I don't think he'd go. I think that depression's beginning to lift, and he's not going to go back to it."

"I don't think he'd go either," Hermione said, voice a little firmer, a little louder. "He wouldn't have told me otherwise. He might waiver, but as long as I'm there for him I can keep him on the right path."

"Exactly," Ginny beamed at her. "Is that all that's bothering you?"

Hermione considered for a moment. Sometimes she had doubts. She knew she had feelings for Draco, but she wasn't sure how far they extended. She knew Draco needed looking after, but she couldn't be his mother when he feelings for him were so non-maternal. She knew he'd changed, but how long would he retain the changes without constant reinforcement? Sooner or later, he was going to become a chore.

No, that wasn't the fear. She wanted it to be the fear though.

Instead, that niggling little doubt. What if he gets bored of me before I do of him? What if I become the chore before he does?

"Don't you worry about Ron, okay?" Ginny said, grabbing and squeezing Hermione's hand. "I'll find him someone."

Hermione chuckled, and to her surprise it wasn't forced. "That must be the ultimate embarrassment, being set up by your younger sister."

Ginny shook her head. "Try older brothers. The twins always try and get him paired off with the girl next door each summer, and even Percy," she swallowed, but ignored the pain in her chest, "tried to set him up once. Bill and Charlie both claim they don't know anyone the right age, but they always encourage the twins."

"Girl next door?" Hermione raised an eyebrow at Ginny. "You live in the middle of nowhere."

"It's a bit of a walk," Ginny acknowledged cheerfully. "Still, better than another cousin, right? This whole pureblood thing is worse than the royal family sometimes."

"What's she like?" Hermione asked, genuinely intrigued. And, if she could bring herself to admit it, a little jealous.

"Blonde, blue eyes, figure like a beach ball," Ginny grinned cheekily. "Her name's Chantelle. She's alright, good fun, but sometimes I think she's more interested in me than Ron, if you know what I mean." Ginny wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, making Hermione burst into gales of laughter. "Her mum's a witch but her dad's a muggle. She's got a brother here, two years below me, and a sister who just left last year. Poor thing's the only one with no magic."

"Poor thing," Hermione agreed. "But she's got you to comfort her, eh?"

They both dissolved into giggles again.

* * *

"Look, Draco, I don't think you should," Hermione said doubtfully.

"Why not?" He sounded frustrated, almost bordering on angry. It wasn't the first time Hermione had noticed this tone in his voice.

"You're not… you need… Look, Draco, I just think perhaps it would be better for you not to."

"'Look, Draco,'" he mimicked cruelly. "I'm so busy 'looking' sometimes that I can't see what's right in front of my nose! Stop babying me."

"I'm not!" Hermione protested. "I just want what's best for you."

"And when was it up to you to decide that?" Draco snapped.

"I wouldn't say you've exactly been capable of it recently!" Hermione finally yelled. The silent library grew quieter, but the couple weren't interested in who was listening. Maybe they hadn't noticed, maybe they didn't care.

Draco paled. His lips thinned until they were barely visible and his eyes narrowed. He seemed to get smaller in all ways, but not as though he was shrinking back. He was coiling in on himself, tightening, compressing. He was preparing to explode out again.

"Look, you need me, Draco," Hermione said, placating him. "You've said so yourse-"

"When?" he demanded. "When?"

"I'm not trying to order you about!" Hermione snapped.

"Yes! You are! You always are! And I put up with it because I agree with you, most of the time. I mean, I agree with your course of action, even before you suggest it. We just happen to be like-minded."

"So what's different now?" Hermione spread her hands.

"I disagree!" Draco snarled. "It's simple. I do not do what other people want me to do. Ever."

"Really?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I don't remember you doing anything other that what your father asked."

She was angry. She knew she was. Anger made her irrational. Irrationality made her want to hurt him. Being hurt often did that, and having her opinion so easily dismissed hurt. Somewhere underneath the anger was a sneaking suspicion that this had been a long time coming. She'd known he wasn't going to put up with it forever. She had to be angry to suppress the traces of guilt.

She didn't want to take it back though.

"No one asked you to involve yourself," Draco said, voice quiet. "My life has nothing to do with you. I have never interfered in your life."

"So the years of bullying I have somehow found it in my heart to forgive?" Hermione muttered.

Volume was increasing. "I do not care, and never have, what you think I should and should not do."

"Do you remember when the rest of Slytherin were hurting you? Physically? Who had the right idea then?" Hermione held her head up and glowered at him.

Voice was getting higher. "That fact is, _sweet_ mudblood, _dear_ Granger, you shouldn't even imagine that your opinions could ever mean anything to someone such as me."

"I told you, _that word _no longer means anything to me."

Draco closed his eyes, swallowed, breathed in and, "Get the _fuck_ out of my life!" he shrieked.

"Language like that will not be tolerated in this school," McGonagall loomed over them. "Nor at that volume."

At least, Hermione consoled herself as they followed mutely to McGonagall's office, he hadn't said 'I hate you'. To say it second usually sounded so reactionary. She could still say it first.


	30. Chapter the TwentyNinth

****

Chapter the Twenty-Ninth

The reprimanding lasted more than a few minutes. Hermione blushed and squirmed and felt more wretched than she ever had in her life. Worse, this was directed solely at her. Draco sat next to her, watching McGonagall, but his lecture would have to come from the head of his house. Hermione wasn't sure if she could bear to sit there while Snape failed to suggest in any way that Draco was in the wrong. McGonagall scolded her student, and Snape would do the same. It made her seethe to think of Draco getting off with a week's detention at most. She'd cost her house a hundred points already and would be cleaning classrooms for the next month, and that was still nothing compared to the simple fact of being told she was in the wrong. Fighting in a library! Not saving the world, not helping friends, but _shouting_ in a _library_!

McGonagall left to fetch Professor Snape, who was proving hard to reach by any other method. Hermione wondered if she honestly thought Snape would punish someone from his own house the way she had Hermione. If Draco lost no points for his behaviour and language, then Hermione knew she would have to bring the whole shameful subject up again, to convince McGonagall of the unfairness of it.

She was just so furious, and she was struggling to define why, or rather, who at. She had long believed that no fight was the fault of only one participant. This did not mean some fights weren't unavoidable, necessary even, but she suspected this wasn't one of them. Her anger at herself seemed only to fuel her anger at him.

Neither had brought up the cause of the fight. There was some honour among them still. Hermione doubted it extended much further, though. She would certainly not go out of her way to help him. Maybe letting herself grow that much closer to him had made the pain that much worse. She knew now he wasn't deserving of her concern. She had wasted how many weeks, how many months? Had he changed at all, or had she just let her feelings obscure her vision? Perhaps Harry and Ron were completely in the right. She had scorned their opinions and trust her own, biased ones. There were five years of damning evidence as to Draco's nature. Why, in this sixth year of their acquaintance, had she allowed him to pull the wool over her eyes? She'd even known that he was playing for sympathy much of the time. He'd been lonely, he'd been scared, and he'd been willing to do anything for a little security.

For a brief moment, guilt and sympathy touched Hermione again, and she almost rejected the self-blame in favour of admitting this was just a routine fight between a couple.

A couple.

Draco scuffed his feet along the carpet. The sound made Hermione grit her teeth. Anger was safe. Anger protected her from thoughts like that. She was a modern, independent women with intelligence on her side. She did not need a man. She certainly did not need some oily boy with opinions dating from the middle ages. She had only been nice to him. They were hardly a couple, which meant this was hardly a couple's quarrel.

"Hermione?"

"Now probably isn't a good time to talk to me," she said stiffly.

"I try, Hermione. I try and I try and there's only so much I can tolerate."

"So much of what?" Hermione said sharply, turning to look at him. He had his arm bent, resting on the back of the chair, and was staring at her intently.

"So much change," he said. "I could pretend, but I'm not the sort to do that."

"You have changed, Draco," she told him. "You're apologising, for a start."

"I'm doing nothing of the sort!" he snapped. "I have nothing to apologise for! What do you think I'm trying to explain to you?"

"I'm a little fuzzy on that front," she said wryly.

"It's all your fault! My world changed. I didn't. I look like I've changed, but I haven't. I reacted."

"And that's my fault?" Hermione asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Ever since you came into my life you've been inserting an influence on me. I resent that." He paused, and sighed. "But I also appreciate it," he admitted.

"That's... fair."

"It's more than that. I'm not used to making such concessions. I have never needed to." He picked at his fingernails. "You've forced me to make a lot of concessions. I ought to hate you for that. I wouldn't take such treatment from my mother."

Hermione was silent. He looked at her for a long moment, then stood up. He fidgeted with his hands for a moment before tucking them firmly behind his back. She suspected that he had been taught public speaking. It was the sort of lesson his parents would have felt mandatory, like etiquette and deportment, and unlike, say, maths, or world history.

"Hermione, I was well brought up. Different people have different standards of such, perhaps, but I know that I was. I do not know much about your upbringing, other than the standards that you hold for yourself often differ greatly for mine. I was brought up to believe that such differences meant a lack of a proper upbringing."

"Different is bad," Hermione murmured. He frowned at the interruption, but went on as though he hadn't heard it.

"These differences fascinated me. You were not ashamed of them. In fact, you scorned me. From the beginning, you fascinated me. Harry Potter, as well," he said quietly. "I had to understand, you see? But understanding altered my opinion of you, and thus my treatment, and I went on to realise that you would never make any attempt to understand me. Your scorn would not abate, as mine did."

"That's not true," Hermione objected softly. "I do understand, and I don't scorn you for it."

"You still think what I was taught is wrong."

"You still think a lot of what I was taught is wrong," she countered. She knew she couldn't actually disagree with what he said, but this close alternative would perhaps prevent him from noticing that.

"Well, yes." He pulled one hand from his back to wave the matter away before replacing it. He looked like a general talking to his army, pacing up and down with his face more serious that Hermione had ever seen. "Still, I agree that you have made some concessions of your own, and I respect you for it. But not enough."

"Oh really?" she couldn't resist responding tartly. He really was being stupidly pompous.

"I can not love you if you persist in this muggleborn martyr complex. My opinions are no less valid than your own, and you have no idea of the sacrifices I have made and the crises I have gone through simply to maintain a friendship with you." He crossed his arms and stood in front of her, frowning down. "You would tear my whole self apart and rebuild it as you see fit."

"That's not true!" Hermione stood up as well, the chair tumbling backwards. "I have done nothing to you except be nice!"

"That's it! That's the point!" he told her fervently. "You've changed how you act around me and you can not tell me that you had no intent of changing me!"

"For the better!" Why had that seemed reasonable in her head? As soon as it was verbalised every flaw and hole became glaringly apparent. They were implicit in every counter argument she had ever used against him. The shame she had felt earlier was nothing compared to the recognition of her own double standards. Anything to distract herself, anything.

"For what you deem better! Shall I change you? Shall I change you into what I deem better?"

Hermione wasn't listening. She had succeeded in distracting herself, simply thanks to short term memory.

"Can not love me?"

It dwarfed her knowledge of her own failings. It even went so far as to suggest that either they did not exist, or Draco wasn't aware of them.

"Shall I have you adopted into a pureblood family? Shall I teach you how to treat a house elf?"

He seemed to have noticed those failings now. Would he take it back? Though he hadn't really said it, had he?

"Love me?"

Deny it, please deny it. I can't deal with this right now.

"Shall I..." He paused, and grimaced. "Are you done echoing me?" he asked tersely.

"I think so," Hermione managed, trying to shake off the numbness. "I just, wasn't expecting you to say that."

"What? I do love you," he said dismissively. "I never wanted to. You're a muggleborn. I was brought up to believe that such a thing ought to be entirely impossible, baring sexual deviancy."

"Sexual deviancy?" Hermione's jaw dropped. As she had already taught herself, anger was the easiest way to suppress all other upsetting emotions. And Draco made it so _easy_.

"Well, yes. But I still love you."

"You just said you didn't want to!"

"Everyone you know doesn't want you to love me. I know you want to please your friends, so surely you're not so happy about this either!"

They both stared at each other, inches away and miles apart. Hermione could feel the gulf of confusion and absence of understanding opening up between them.

"I.... love you," Draco said.

Hermione closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing. "After all you've said to me today," she said slowly, each word dropping like a lead slab over the mouth of a tomb, "do you honestly expect me to return the sentiment?"

Silence stretched on indefinitely. The only sound was breathing, discreet breaths heavy and long, intentionally out of step with each other. No shouts. No sobs. No screams. Anger gone cold and dry and dead, but still ruling like a puppet emperor as other emotions fought for dominance behind the screen it provided.

"I suppose not."

Hermione looked at him. Had he been trained for this, as well, or was he just applying those other lessons? Dry eyes, firm mouth, straight back. Either he was as skilled an actor as she feared, or he did not love her.

"I hate you," Hermione said, surprised at her own bitterness.

"I... see."

"I always have done. I was trying to be charitable, to be _kind_, and you repay me with a slew of insults! I _am_ well brought up, as evidenced by the fact _I_ haven't just destroyed all faith you ever had in humanity! You can dress it up in eloquent words and talk of proper upbringings, but everything I know of you tells me that you are no gentleman, Malfoy, and your pretences and affected airs do _nothing_ to disguise that fact."

"Are you going to slap me with your glove?" he growled. "Hit me with your fan?"

"No, I'm going to leave."

And she did.


	31. Chapter the Thirtieth

**Chapter the Thirtieth  
**

_A/N: I'm glad this is so popular, and eveyrone likes it, I really am. Reviews always brighten my day. I just feel obliged to say that asking for faster updates won't make them happen. I have three epic fanfics, two original novels and an essay a fortnight on the go right now, not to mention the novel-a-week I'm meant to be reading. The joys of being a conscientious English Lit student! _

_When fics get this long they can be hard to write anyway; the first flush of excitement and inspiration has faded until you're just following a plan that doesn't even make sense all the time. As one of the other epic fics taught me, sometimes the plan fails in the writing. But I never abandon a fic. It may be months between updates, but it's never eternity. If you're patient, you'll find an update._

_This note isn't just because of requests here - it's requests on all three epic fics. I know most of my readers aren't in all of the fandoms I'm in, so I thought I ought to let you know about the situation I've put myself in and explain _why_ you find yourselves so frustrated with me. I'm sorry for the long waits between chapters. Things ought to pick up over Easter, since (obciously) I haven't got the required reading and essays to fight through, though I can't promise anything._

_Anyway, thank you so much for reading so far and showing as much patience as you all have. The reviews are always encouraging and helpful and I appreciate them a lot. I just hope you'll stick with me a little longer.  
_

**  
**

"It could be said, Hermione, that you are," Ron paused for significance, "_disproportionately_ upset."

Hermione didn't say anything.

"Colin told me about the fight. No one's seen Malfoy yet."

"I left him for Snape to yell at," Hermione mumbled. "Not that Snape will."

"Course not," Ron grinned. "Teacher's pet."

"I'm going to go to McGonagall if he gets off too lightly."

"Good plan."

There was a long pause.

"Go away."

"Nope."

Ron hopped backwards onto the bed, sitting next to her and reaching out to run his hand down her back.

"You can talk to me, Hermione."

"How did you get up here?" she asked.

"Ginny tied a rope to the banister at the top of the stairs for me, and I pulled myself up."

"Impressive. Pity it was worthless."

"Ginny was worried."

"That's nice."

Ron reached over and tangled his fingers in her hair. "Hermione."

"Everyone is going to be so happy," she said into her pillow, voice as bitter as her tears.

"You broke up over one fight?" Ron asked, surprised, trying to suppress the joy he felt. It wasn't hard. "Oh, Hermione, you're in love with him, aren't you?"

"Of course not!" Hermione pushed herself sharply. "I just wanted to look after him."

She rolled over to sit up properly, accidentally tangling her legs with Ron's torso. Her eyes were bloodshot, the skin around them puffy, her nose red and her lips swollen. Even Ron couldn't find her attractive, and that upset him. He thought she was gorgeous when her eyes were bloodshot and puffy from sleepless nights of studying, she was beautiful when she was covered in mud and cuts and bruises, and she was even a vision when she was with Malfoy. But she'd been crying, and any attraction he felt for her was smothered by a blind anger on her behalf.

Hermione reached over and grabbed his wrist, slipping her hand down into his and squeezing gently. She knew him.

"Ron... It was just a fight. I'm okay."

"You don't look okay," Ron snarled. "You can't stop me from hating him, Hermione. I always have done."

"I know. And, well, I'm mad at him now anyway, so I'm perfectly fine with that," she admitted. "I tried to help him and he threw a hissy fit. He was so _condescending_!" she began to rant. "I've never been so insulted, Ron. He just kept talking about me like I was less than human! He said that his love for me made him a sexual deviant!"

"What?" Ron stared at her. "That beast is capable of love?"

Hermione almost retaliated, almost grew angry on Draco's behalf, but then she saw just how wide Ron's eyes were, just how open his mouth. He was exaggerating. He was joking. And to her surprise, she was laughing, albeit weakly. She leant over and hugged Ron.

"Thank you," she murmured into his shoulder.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. She could feel the tension in his shoulders, and despite her own desires she pulled away a little, to give them space to talk. Ron understood the message, though he continued to loosely embrace her.

"He actually said he loves you?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," Hermione admitted, blushing slightly.

"And you..." Ron let it hang.

"Yelled at him a lot, because of the sexual deviancy comment, and told him I hate him," Hermione told him. "I don't think he meant it, or, at least, not the way you or I would. It was more like he was trying to arrange a marriage of convenience or something. He just slipped it into the conversation, like it was a perfectly reasonable assumption between us. Like it didn't even need saying."

"Do you think he was casual because he didn't mean it, or because he thought, as you say, 'it was a perfectly reasonable assumption'?" Ron asked carefully.

"It didn't mean anything to him," Hermione insisted, tears rising again. "Love is meant to have passion, emotion, power. Isn't it?"

"Of course it is," Ron soothed her. The thought niggled at the back of his mind, that surely the intensity of their fight suggested at least some emotion. He couldn't ignore it, but he could disregard for a little longer. It was hardly something to point out to Hermione. "He's been brought up in a world where 'love' is just another word for 'suppose I can tolerate you for the rest of my life'."

"Isn't that your world?" Hermione sniffed. "The wizarding world?"

"I think of it more as the 'posh wanker' world," Ron told her, hoping for another laugh. He accomplished a slight smile. "He's a twit."

"Yeah."

"Oh, Hermione," Ron sighed, looking at her. He pulled her into another hug. He rubbed her back and stroked her hair. She was shuddering against him, not quite crying, but only because she was too tired to any more. Ron hugged her and murmured calming nonsense in her ear, like his mother had when the twins had shown him his reflection in the back of a spoon and convinced him be thrown out of society for looking like such a freak. He doubted showing Hermione her face in a mirror would be of much help just now, though.

If he hadn't been wishing and praying for this moment he would have been out hexing Malfoy into oblivion rather than cuddling Hermione, despite the inherent pleasures of the latter. Guilt kept him there. Hermione was obviously heartbroken, and he'd wished that on her. It wasn't his fault, but he didn't feel guilty for causing it. He just felt bad for wanting it. And still, even now, wanting it. He'd been patient for years, and now it might only be a matter of months. Already, Hermione was...

He buried his nose into the curve of her neck and tried not to start crying, just from self-loathing.

* * *

They were sitting in the common room, everyone studiously ignoring the redness of Hermione's eyes. She appreciated it, though hated knowing her ego was so fragile as to need that small mollification. It didn't help that every time someone started a sentence with "I..." she automatically supplied "...told you so" and "...knew this would happen."

No one mentioned Malfoy. When Parvati said something about Slytherin she was quickly shushed. Hermione twitched, not sure if she was upset because of the reminder or because they were being so careful not to remind her. Her shoulders stung with the tension between them. She felt like a spurned Jane Austen character, sitting bolt upright with her hands in her lap and her face utterly blank. She wanted to take up embroidery.

Hermione blinked at that thought, and remembered her knitting. She had some in her bag, and she fished it out quickly. At least the repetition was soothing, as the needles clacked together. It was only after several contented minutes that she registered the colours. She'd forgotten she'd started a scarf for Malfoy.

She could feel their eyes on her. They could tell, now she'd stopped, that she'd noticed the green and silver. She could hear Ginny hastily digging in her bag, and out of the corner of her eye Hermione saw Ginny palm a handkerchief to be ready at a moment's notice.

Hermione looked at the scarf again. Part of her wanted to put it back in the bag and hope that one day she'd have a reason to finish it. Another part wanted to throw the mess into the fire.

Both, she scolded herself, were emotion-driven impulses. They suggested strong emotion, too, but she wasn't ready to come to terms with that yet. She was a rational, reasonable person. She wasn't going to sit and sob into an unfinished scarf, or waste wool in the fire. She was above that.

Hermione took up her wand and pointed it at the ball of wool that sat by her feet. With a muttered first year incantation the verdant green turned to a rich crimson. After all, why not knit all of the house colours into the scarf? It showed loyalty. It didn't show taste, but she was sure that she would find someone to give the overly cheerful brightly coloured monstrosity to. Her treacherous mind suggested Ron, throwing her an image of him with one of his mother's knitted jumpers and Hermione's scarf and a bobble hat Hermione couldn't place, but she forced that idea away in a fit of pity and decided one of her young cousins might really appreciate the rainbowed garment.

She looked up to find Ron, Harry and Ginny all smiling encouragingly. She fought the urge to roll her eyes, but found no reason to suppress it and let them all know of her amusement.

"Honestly, I'm not that fragile," she said, hoping she wasn't lying.

"We know," Ginny told her. "You wouldn't be our Hermione if you were."

"Well, you can all just stop tip-toeing around me then," Hermione replied tartly. "It's not as though anything truly horrible has happened. Hardly even unpleasant, when you think about it." She knew she was taking it too far, and forced herself to clamp down on her rambling tongue.

"It was only Malfoy," Harry agreed. Hermione saw Ron and Ginny flinch at what they saw as tactlessness, but Hermione was grateful for it.

"Precisely," she chirped brightly. "Of course I'm hurt that he would misconstrue and reject so violently an attempt to help him, but it's hardly on a par with any of the fights we've had over the years. I would be much more upset if any of you acted so immaturely and insulted me like that."

The last sentence was a little more pointed than it ought to have been, and she could see Harry cringe from his recent behaviour. She sympathised, she really did, but she also took some small pleasure in letting him know that he'd wounded her. In her reasonable mind she told herself that it had in fact hurt more than anything Malfoy had done. It was just a slow ache, rather than this sharp pain. Malfoy was the breaking of the bone, Harry the long healing.

"It's good to have you back," Harry said.

"I never went away," Hermione told him. "Honestly, I don't know what's wrong with you all."

"Nothing," Ron said quickly. "Nothing at all, or with you."

"Want to play four way exploding snap?" Ginny asked.

"Count me out," Harry said, pulling a roll of parchment from Hermione's bag and waving his own quill. "I've got a Herbology essay to write." He paused and added, "Mind if I borrow some parchment?"

"Go ahead," Hermione said, waving the request away with long practised patience. "I think I'm going to keep knitting, if you don't mind, Ginny."

"Don't worry," Ron said, voice exaggeratedly soothing, "I'll blow you to kingdom come, little sister."

"You wish!" Ginny laughed.

Things settled back into their normal routine, shouts of triumph and despair coming from the siblings, Harry asking Hermione for help with a subject she didn't take any more and Hermione mouthing 'slip one, pearl one' at odd intervals. The strange awkwardness was fading now.

"You know what's weird?" Ginny commented, having just soundly beaten her brother. "What's weird is that I'm thinking of you as single now, when I wasn't thinking of you as attached before."

"I guess a few dates allows for the development of marital status," Hermione said, voice neutral. "Before it didn't need defining, just assuming."

"You want to do it again? With someone else?" Harry asked. Hermione couldn't decide on his tone. Maybe suspicious, maybe nervous, maybe hopeful.

"At some point in my life, yes," Hermione smirked. "As fervently as I believe that a woman doesn't need a husband to support her or to be considered successful, I don't really want to live my life alone."

"But you need to get over Malfoy first," Ron said quickly. "Right?"

"Of course not!" Harry spoke for her. "That would imply there was something to get over. Hermione's already said there isn't. She's hurt, not heartbroken."

Hermione opened her mouth and closed it again.

"Don't be daft," Ron growled. "Just because they weren't madly in love doesn't mean it won't take her time to get past this."

"Why would it? She's been freed from his dependency," Harry shot back. "It's _Malfoy_."

"Why don't you ask her?" Ginny put in before her brother could escalate the fight further.

"Fine! Hermione, would you go out with Ron?"

Hermione's eyes widened. Ron's eyes widened. Both went pale. Hermione watched Ron's adam's apple bob furiously.

She knew that if she had completely lacked feelings for her friend, there would have been no doubt or panic at the asking of the question. She would have treated it as purely theoretical.

She knew she loved Ron deeply, dearly. He was just a friend now, but unlike someone like Malfoy or Krum she could picture herself still in a relationship with him when they were both forty, or four hundred. Their friendship would give them that where pure romance would eventually falter and fade.

She knew it would prove to the world that she'd meant everything she'd said about Malfoy. Maybe she really had enjoyed their relationship, such as it was, but it had come from a false source. She had fallen for his depression and dependence. She had loved his redemption, the redemption that she had forced upon him. She had loved herself.

She knew Ron wouldn't hurt her. He couldn't hurt her, not like Malfoy had.

"Yes," Hermione said, "I would. I will."


	32. Chapter the ThirtyFirst

**Chapter the Thirty-First**

_A/N: _

_IMPORTANT. I **have not** read the new Harry Potter. I probably won't until about midAugust. **No spoilers** in the reviews, PLEASE. Okay, so I already know the big one, but I'd still prefer to avoid the details. I know me: **once I read the new book there is a much greater chance I won't be able to finish this**. The less I know, the more likely I am to finish this, and relatively soon (having no internet for three weeks is great for the creative juices)._

_ So, yeah, no spoilers. From now on this fic is going off road in regards to canon. I hope you all still keep reading, regardless._

The exams were upon them. Literally for Harry, who had his carefully piled notes collapse on top of him and leave him buried for several minutes before he could dig his way out. It hadn't helped that Ron and Hermione were both laughing at him, and worse, he was laughing at himself. He managed to fill the entire boy's dormitory with sheets and rolls of parchment, like a patchwork snowfall.

Hermione had cleared it up and even given the notes a look through, finding areas Harry had missed and subjects he had slept through. To her horror, she even found a small topic - bottles used by merpeople to store potions under water - she had missed herself. It had taken all of her self restraint not to run from the room and hide in her own bed, hyperventilating. Of course, the boys relied on her to be the font of all knowledge and their exam period rock. She couldn't let on that _she_ had made a mistake.

The problem was she just couldn't keep her mind on revision. It didn't help that Ron chose the most awkward moments to make advances. She cared about him, and she didn't want to hurt his feelings, but if he tried to kiss her just on more time while she was revising she'd hit him with the text book. Putting him off politely only resulted in puppydog eyes and pouting lips, and she hated doing that to him. Hated doing it to herself. Every time she spoke harshly to him, or turned away from a kiss, or didn't have time to go out with him to Hogsmeade, a dark doubt hung between them. It would be a long time before Ron could see that her actions came from the mind, not a heart still in love with Draco Malfoy.

Hermione swallowed and bent over her notes. She had arithmancy this afternoon, and this was hardly the time to start thinking about Malfoy. He was as much a distraction as Ron, despite his absence. All she had to do was fall in love with Ron. It sounded so simple in her head. She hadn't been in love with Draco, no matter what Ron thought, so it ought to be easy, yes?

Hermione closed her eyes and let her head drop. She couldn't do this, not now. But if she didn't she'd stay just as distracted. She'd struggle to revise, and fight to concentrate in the exams. Unbidden, her mind took her back to the day she had found Malfoy in the library, crying. She wanted to go and look for him. Three times today she'd made it as far as the door before she managed to squash the impulse. Her mind kept wandering, taking her to Malfoy reading Freud, and pulling faces about snakes. She knew what Freud would say to her now. Well, with less emphasis on her parents, though Ron did remind her a little of her father. Freud would say 'repression'.

Hermione sat up and sighed heavily. She was alone in the prefect's study, it being barely four AM. Quieter than the dormitories, and no fear of disturbing anyone.

"I loved Draco Malfoy."

With that statement, heard only by the paintings, she slammed her books shut and folded up her parchment, stuffing everything into her bag before running out of the room without it.

* * *

Malfoy watching Hermione run down the corridor, hands over her mouth. She ducked into the nearby girl's toilets and before the door swung shut Draco heard retching. Apparently it had been a close thing. He hoped it would be a long thing too.

He walked down the corridor quickly, quietly in his slippers. His heart sank when he entered the study and saw Hermione's bag still there. She'd come back for it.

After a moment's contemplation he pulled a quill and piece of parchment for it and wrote in the most scratchy, blotted, and overall crude hand he could manage:

'closed 4 cleening plees do not disterb"

He pinned it to the door and hung Hermione's bag on the door handle. He hoped it would work. She could be ridiculous inquisitive sometimes.

His heart constricted, but he took a deep breath and swallowed his emotions. He was sick of watching her pretend she had never cared for him. She could bat her eyelids at Weasley all she liked, but he knew she was as badly hurt as he was. He took satisfaction in that when the nights were too cold and lonely to sleep. She could smile for her friends, but when she was alone she was as he had just seen her: miserable, sick and alone.

He could watch her later, if he didn't fall asleep. Maybe all he'd taken of value from Arithmancy was the time he'd spent with her, but that was fine by him.

He knelt by the fire place and tried to remember the address that had come by post the day before. The letter had been, ostensibly, from a family relative, wishing him well at school and offering him a place during the holidays. A relative that didn't exist but lived in a real house. And who's letters burned to a crisp as soon as they were read.

He cast the floo powder into the fire and murmured the address. He swallowed, and pushed his head into the flames.

He could see walls and the floor and even a bit of ceiling, touching the floor. It was some kind of ruined cottage, rotten thatch mildewing on broken tiles. Draco found himself turning his nose up at it all instinctually.

"Ahh, Draco," a familiar voice said, and Draco watched his father come in to view. He tried to keep the shock from his face.

Lucius Malfoy was painfully thin. His hair was waist length now, and so dirty and matted its natural blond was almost completely obscured. He even, and this was what shocked Draco the most, had a beard.

His eyes, though, were as bright and cruel as they had always been, and sent a rush of familial pride through Draco. Even under such circumstances his father had lost none of his self-possession and pride. He didn't need magic to bend other to his will. He was the born leader, born superior, and everything Draco wanted to be. Maybe the son had lost a few of his father's prejudices, but he retained that pride. Ambition made you a Slytherin, and for each Malfoy their greatest ambition was both to be their parent, and to surpass their parent.

"Hello, father," Draco said, keeping his voice soft, but not subservient. "It's been a long time."

His father gave him a look that once would have had Draco cowering in fear. Here and now, however, Draco knew well that all of the power was his own. His father was dependent on him. It was a pleasant feeling.

"We are wanted by both sides," his father said curtly, getting straight to the point. "Naturally I did not betray our leader."

"So why are you being hunted by Death Eaters?" Draco asked.

"That is none of your concern. Needless to say the method of my escape has left our dark lord with questions as to my fealty."

"How did you escape?" Draco asked, still having received no satisfactory answer from any quarter.

"With the aid of a well kept secret." Lucius paused, and Draco could see he was thinking hard. He raised his head to meet Draco's eyes again, and there was something there both like pride and rejection. "You say 'you', not 'we'," Lucius said softly. "I can not decide if this is evidence you are growing some backbone, or whether you are turning your back on your family and heritage like a craven coward, fleeing from my imprisonment and playing sycophant to Dumbledore and the fools who follow him."

"I will never lay down my name of Malfoy," Draco said stiffly. "I still have pride in it, even if all others now use it as a byword for foolish servants of the Dark Lord."

Lucius hissed at that, angry but not made stupid by it. The two men studied each other.

"I will tell you how I escaped Azkaban, if you join me in my escape from Albion," he said.

"Albion?" Draco raised an eyebrow at the old name, but enjoyed the taste of it on his tongue. A self-imposed exile was appealing right now. And then, one day, he could come crashing back to Albion and prove to the world he was not some snivelling ferret-faced bullying coward, or whatever they called him in Gryffindor these days, with all the power his father wielded.

"Is that enough for you?" Lucius asked acidly.

"Albion? Yes, England will be enough for me." Draco grinned wickedly. His father returned the wolfish smile.

"I will come to Hogwarts before the year ends. We will use the Potter boy's gifts against him. You will know when I am there. Until then, prepare for flight, but do not make a move, understand?"

It was an odd message, Draco mused as he pulled his head back from the flames. Yes, Potter had many irritating talents, but he doubted Quidditch skills could convey any kind of coherent message. His father didn't know about the invisibility cloak, and Draco could see no way for his father to use Potter's attention-seeking hero complex without inciting an attack on himself.

He crouched on his heels in front of the fire, rubbing the fine layer of ash from his face with one thumb while he thought. He could hear Hermione outside, muttering to herself, and then taking her satchel and leaving. Draco stood up slowly, wincing at the stiffness in his knees. He wanted to follow her. He kicked and shook his legs, restarting circulation, but remained where he stood. He'd let that ship sail. She had smothered him and in kicking away the blankets he had kicked her away too. Now he was cold, yes, but at least he could breathe.

* * *

The exam was a slow kind of torture. Hermione fought not to fidget, running through the questions for a third time. She had answered them all, thankfully, but her confidence waxed and waned. Her head pounded, and she found herself thankful that the exams were timed by falling sand instead of ticking clocks.

She tapped her pen next to question ten, wondering whether she had interpreted it correctly. She was more concerned about her answer to twelve, but that was what had given her the headache in the first place. It didn't help that she'd found herself writing Draco's name in place of that of the eminent professor who had created the first theory of exponential magic accumulation. Of course, she couldn't remember the eminent professor's name now, which was why she had buried that piece of paper at the bottom of the pile and was attempting to ignore it, in the hope the name might just spring into her head if she didn't dig for it too hard. It wasn't working.

She looked around the room, starting with the timer and then letting her eyes wander. She wasn't cheating. She had no intention of doing so. Besides, there was no one here she would trust to have better answers than herself, except one, who had fallen asleep on his paper within seconds of arriving and hadn't written a single thing.

Malfoy was two columns across and one row in front of her. He had started snoring half an hour ago, which had sent a ripple of nervous laughs through the exam room before McGonagall had silenced the students with a Look. Now he was just drooling a little, but sleeping quietly. He looked, Hermione decided, quite sweet.

She wondered if that was an observation to share with the others. Ginny would appreciate it, but Ron might take it the wrong way. It was funny, Hermione told herself, and a little demeaning to Malfoy. She'd just have to find the right way to phrase it. Sleeping like a baby. A baby rat, all pink and wrinkled and stubbled with white hairs.

Hermione doodled a rodent on the corner of the questions' parchment, reminding herself accidentally that she quite liked rats. She'd always made a point of not disliking things just because everyone else did. She was fine with spiders and snake and mice, and while slugs left her a little squeamish she wasn't going to scream the house down. Irrational fears encouraged by popular television, all hysterical women standing on chairs and the like.

She glanced over at Malfoy again. He shifted in his sleep, sighing audibly.

Hermione swallowed her own sigh and erased the drawing of the rat. She wouldn't share this with the others. She couldn't.


	33. Chapter the ThirtySecond

**Chapter the Thirty-Second**

_A/N: This, by my own admission, is not the greatest chapter in the world. It's a join the dots chapter, and it's kinda short,mostly because it was hard to write. The next one, though, is a cracker,I swear. It's just a pity it's 2AM right now._

Ron had known Hermione long enough to realise he had no hope of attracting her attention during exam period. It was still a little frustrating, but he'd had years of practice enduring it by now.

The problem was, in his eyes, she seemed plenty distracted anyway. She didn't even try to give a blow by blow account of the arithmancy exam. He'd had his I'm-sure-you-did-greats and I-bet-you've-done-better-than-you-thoughts all ready. He could have excused it if she'd gone straight back to revising, but instead she just sat in the common room.

Ron flopped down next to her. He stuck a foot out and ran it up her leg. She looked confused for a second, then smiled.

"Maybe getting up at four to revise wasn't such a good idea," she said, either failing to stifle a yawn or forcing one.

"How did your exam go?" Ron asked.

"Oh, good, I guess. There were a few I wasn't sure on."

Ron closed his eyes and let his head fall back. This wasn't Hermione. This wasn't the girl he loved.

"Malfoy was there too, right?" he said softly, hating himself for pushing the topic.

Hermione sighed.

"I'm tired, Ron, that's all. Yes, he was there. If you must know, he was asleep. He kept snoring. It was very distracting." Ron dropped his head to look and her, and Hermione caught his eye. She smiled wickedly, and he found himself chuckling at the mental image she had sketched. "You don't do Arithmancy, Ron. You always complain when I go on about exams. Can't I just be considering your feelings?"

Ron pouted. "I like being able to complain about it, though. You're denying me that vital opportunity."

Hermione seemed to consider this for a second. Ron wondered guiltily what was running through her head, whether what followed would be a relaxation of false restraints or an exercise of them. She leant forwards, elbows on her knees, chin on her hands. Her eyes were bright, and she smiled broadly.

"So," she began, "the first question was on relative magical density between wand magic and potion magic. It was for two marks. I'm certain I got both for comparing the work of Amadeus on potions and Marcellos on wands, and if that wasn't enough I brought in Borealis's treaty on units of magical density..."

Ron returned her grin and tuned out her words. All was right with the world, for now.

* * *

Draco Malfoy skipped the potions exam. A day after he'd fallen asleep in Arithmancy, he failed to turn up altogether for another of his best subjects. He didn't expect anyone to worry, though he hardly expected it to go unnoticed. In a way, he wanted it to get noticed. Maybe he even wanted someone to bring him to task about it. Of course, they wouldn't. They'd assume this was all about Hermione. No one even mentioned his father any more.

He'd chosen to do this now for a reason, a good reason. There wasn't a single Slytherin student, at least in his year, that wasn't at that potions exam. Even Crabbe and Goyle were there. Like the other failing students, both had been receiving private tutoring from Snape. Remedial Potions, just like Potter.

Draco stood in the middle of the dormitory fists clenched. Everything was connected. Everything was circling him. Even the room, at times. He needed more sleep, but every time he tried he went through the same rotation of nightmares. He didn't want to sleep anyway. The connections were like a spider's web, centring on him. Whether he was the spider or the fly, Draco hadn't decided yet, but Potter, his father, Snape, Voldemort, his mother, even Hermione were all connected to him and to each other. The point where, and when, they all came together would be that moment of revelation, that epiphany.

That moment of destiny.

Draco shook himself and glanced at the grandfather clock standing in the corner of the room. He'd already spent far longer standing around than he'd meant to on the whole project. Perhaps he should get some real sleep. Perhaps he should stop obsessing over Potter and his father's cryptic messages. Perhaps he should even give up this whole idea, go to his exam and try not to get kicked out of Hogwarts.

He gathered his scattered thoughts yet again and finally roused himself to real action. He pulled a trunk from under his bed, looked at it for a moment, and pushed it back under. He went to the wardrobe opposite his bed instead. He'd provided the wardrobe himself, spelled small by his mother so he could fit it in his bag. Now, his bag was inside it.

He decided against his school satchel and instead pulled out a rucksack he had always been deeply ashamed of owning. It was far too muggle, but also far too useful.

He placed it on the bed and frowned at it for a moment. After some consideration he began to pile items around it. To the left were his school books, specifically those that provided instructions and incantations for spells. To the right he began folding clothes, including a few pairs of trousers he could get away with should he be forced to pass through muggle territory. From his bedside cabinet he produced a small stockpile of food, collected at meals and from Hogsmeade.

Draco took a step back and studied his preparations.

"Food, clothes, magic. What else? What?" he murmured under his breath. "Money? yes. Mustn't forget my wand, either." Though he'd need that in the days before he received the summons. He wanted to be ready, but he didn't want to arouse suspicions.

Well, any more suspicions than he'd already aroused. Though he didn't think anyone would attribute his absence to anything more than his recent moodiness and tendency to fall sleep at inappropriate times. Three times in exams, twice at dinner, once at breakfast (the only breakfast he'd actually made it to that week) and five times by the lake. Well, four times _by_ the lake, once _in_ the lake. Hagrid, the great oaf, had had to save him, an insult he wasn't likely to live down for a long time.

The rucksack wasn't large. The books were heavy. Looking through them, Draco eventually settled on "Well Chosen Spells for Wandering Wizards" which he had bought the previous weekend. He smirked at the pile of school books left abandoned on the bed. All that book learning, all that swatting for school tests, was no use in real life. Hermione to get all the As she wanted, but when she went to work in the real world she would be completely lacking in experience and life skills.

Draco carefully avoided recognising "Well Chosen Spells for Wandering Wizards" as a book in his mental tirade against education.

On top of the book he placed only one change of clothes, all muggle. He intended to wear his wizarding clothes as much as he could, especially since for the majority of his journey they would attract the least attention, though he'd have to leave his school uniform behind. The food went in the pocket on one side of the rucksack, a small bag of galleons in the other. Making certain for the fifth time that day that his wand was still in his sleeve, Draco began cleaning up again.

His father would call him any day soon, and they would travel out of the country together. He expected to go north, maybe to Iceland, maybe east a little to one of the Nordic countries. All had ancient wizarding families that would eagerly welcome their English cousins. Trolls and giants still ran wild in the plains and forests. Elves populated Iceland, though they consider all humans to exist solely for their amusement, be they muggle or wizard. Draco thought he might have met one when they holidayed there in his childhood, since it's dress was five decades outdated, by muggle standards, but then, so were his own.

He still wasn't sure how Potter would relay a message to him, especially without working out what was going on, and interfering as he always did. With his relationship with Hermione severed, Draco had effectively cut his connection to Potter as well. He hoped this wouldn't jeopardise his father's plans, but he was reasonably confident it wouldn't. Even after six years, every event in Potter's life was public knowledge among the school. People were still interested. It was a muggle thing, Draco decided with a sniff. Cult of celebrity and all that. The integrity of the school was being corrupted by muggle influences.

Draco could hear sounds coming from the common room. He hastily shoved the rest of his clothes into the wardrobe and threw himself onto the bed, intending to pretend he was asleep.

By the time his classmates reached him, he actually was.

* * *

Hermione tried to keep her anger to herself as they returned to the common room, but her companions felt no needs for such restraints. As they let lose she felt her own fury melt under the heat of theirs. With the loss of intensity there was a loss of focus, and her mind broadened. She followed the others into the common room physically, but her thoughts rapidly diverged from theirs.

"Do you know what he did?" Ron demanded of Ginny as soon as he climbed through the portrait hole. "Do you know what the arrogant git's gone and done this time?"

Ginny thought for a moment. "We're talking about Malfoy, right?"

"Who else?" Harry asked sardonically. "You won't believe this."

"What did he do?" Ginny asked patiently.

"That's the point," Harry said with a smile, flopping down next to Ginny. "We don't know."

"I don't get it."

"He didn't turn up to the exam," Harry explained.

"That guy is so certain of Snape's favouritism he doesn't even feel compelled to take the exam," Ron snorted. "Snape won't get away with it, though. Malfoy's going to fail for sure."

"I don't think even Snape's going to look too kindly on this either," Harry said. "He was grinding his teeth all through the practical, and he actually left during the theory."

"Do you think he went to find Malfoy?" asked Ginny. "In the middle of an exam?"

"Probably not. I mean, he came back quite quickly, and without Malfoy," Ron said. "Perhaps he went to report Malfoy's behaviour to Dumbledore?"

"He could have gone to find someone else to take the exam while he found Malfoy, and didn't find anyone," Harry suggested.

"Maybe he sent someone else after Malfoy," offered Ron.

"You don't think this has anything to do with his dad, do you?" Ginny dropped her voice to a whisper.

"It could, I guess," Ron murmured, wrinkling his nose as he thought. "But I'd have thought something like that would have happened sooner." He snorted. "He's probably just still sulking over Hermione."

Hermione stood up again. She didn't look angry, or particularly upset. Ron felt certain she'd have said something if she was, or at least made more of a point of it as she stood up. Instead, she was staring somewhere into the middle distance, completely distracted. Ron wondered if what he'd said even had anything to do with her current behaviour.

"Hermione?" Harry said, staring up at her.

"I have to go to the library," she said. "I'll see you at lunch." She stepped past Ron and headed straight out of the common room.

"We already had lunch," Ron said.


	34. Chapter the ThirtyThird

**Chapter the Thirty-Third**

Harry tracked down Hermione in the library, right where she'd said she would be. The library was jammed full of students, all studying intently. Harry felt guilty for simply walking through the room. He didn't want anyone to fail because he'd distracted them by walking past their desk or his footsteps were too loud.

Hermione, of course, was right in the deepest, darkest, dustiest corner of the library. Muggle Studies. She was sitting with her back to a shelf, a book in her lap and a small pile of chocolate next to her. Harry wondered where she'd found the chocolate.

"When's the exam?" Harry asked.

"Two days ago," Hermione said. "It went well, I think. Of course, I have something of an advantage."

"Yeah," Harry said, sitting down next to her. "So what are you doing here?"

Hermione blushed and frowned at the book in her lap unhappily.

"Hermione?" Harry poked her arm. "Her-mi-on-ne?"

"Thinking about Malfoy," she admitted quietly.

Harry regretted asking.

"What's going on in his head: that's not about me. I don't know what it is about, but it's not me. And I'm worried." Hermione turned a page in the book and slipped another piece of chocolate into her mouth. Talking around it, she went on, "I think Ginny was on to something when she mentioned Malfoy's father. He's still very upset about that, you know."

Harry stared at his knees for a moment. The past year had been tough on their friendship. It had taken him a long time to realise he wasn't losing Hermione to Malfoy. He wasn't even really sharing her with him. Their paths hadn't crossed much. By the time he'd reconciled himself to them being together they'd split up. It wasn't just Malfoy, though. Hermione's no nonsense friendship policy had shocked him into looking at his own behaviour. Maybe he had been unfair on them, but he still felt the sting of Hermione's lack of sympathy.

There had been times, earlier in the year, when he'd wished his losses on his friends. He'd told himself it was so they'd understand how he felt and be able to offer more support. He knew, though, that he'd simply wanted them to feel as bad as he did. It wasn't the same thing. He still had trouble accepting how unfair life was, but for now he was grateful that Hermione and Ron were still relatively unscathed. If they were all hurting they would be entirely unable to help each other through.

Harry needed Hermione's friendship, just as much as he needed Ron's. He needed them to be friends as well, though. The questions in his mind could break those bonds, all of them. But if he didn't ask, then those bonds might be broken anyway, and worse, break Hermione and Ron too. There would be no hope of a reconciliation.

"Hermione," Harry said softly, "will you answer a question?"

"You want me to say yes without hearing it first?" Hermione asked, her nose still buried in her book. Harry didn't take offence at this method of holding a conversation; he knew from experience Hermione was quite capable of giving him her full attention and pursue her own task as well.

"I think I might be able to help you work out what's going on with Malfoy, but you have to tell me something as well, okay?"

Hermione looked up from her book: a bad sign. "Are you trying to bargain with me, Harry? That's not how friendship works. If you think you know something that could help Malfoy, I need to know."

"I'm not bargaining," Harry said, perfectly aware that that was precisely what he was doing. "I just... if you can, you'll avoid answering my question. And I don't blame you for that, but I need a guarantee you'll answer me truthfully."

"I never slept with Malfoy," Hermione said, returning to her book. Harry was about to object, blushing and stuttering and insulted, when he saw Hermione's smile.

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. "It's not that, okay? Look, I'll tell you what I know about Malfoy, alright? Bear in mind I was sworn to secrecy here, and that's, you know, _state_ secrecy."

"It's his father, isn't it?" Hermione said, putting the book down. "What happened, Harry?"

"He escaped."

"I know that, Harry. Ginny told me, remember?" Hermione said softly. "Do you know when, though, exactly?" She leant forwards intently.

"Before Christmas, I think." Harry leant back, feeling a little threatened. "That's got to be why they kept Malfoy in the sick room."

"Oh." Hermione said, sitting back ago. "That's... that's a while ago."

"I guess that's why Ginny thought it was unlikely," Harry said. "Still, it's worth considering, right?"

"Definitely. Perhaps he's tried to make contact? Maybe Malfoy was actually told not to go to the potions exam?" Hermione pulled a bit of paper from a pocket and a pen from behind her ear and began scribbling ideas on a bit of paper. "He won't tell me, of course," she sighed, "but I think I'm going to have to try anyway. I'd never forgive myself if he disappears or hurts himself or something and I didn't even _try_."

"Hermione," Harry broke in, "are you still in love with Draco Malfoy?"

"I was never i-" Hermione cut herself off.

"Hermione?"

"Would you like some chocolate?" she asked, holding a piece out to him.

"Hermione!" Harry glowered at her, but took the chocolate anyway.

"I know, I know." Hermione sighed heavily. "It's just... it's a hard question." She stared at her shoes and bit down on a lump of chocolate. "Did Ron ask you to ask?"

"No," Harry said. "And I won't tell him what you say, either."

"Why not?" Hermione asked.

"Huh?"

"What if... what if I tell you something that you think he needs to know? What if I told you I was carrying Malfoy's baby, or something?"

"I thought you said you never slept with him," Harry said suspiciously.

"I didn't, you twit," Hermione said. "It was just an example."

"You're going to tell me something on the same level as being pregnant?" Harry asked incredulously.

"No! Well..." Hermione looked uncomfortable. "Look, will you still stand by your promise not to tell Ron?"

Harry took a deep breath. "Yes," he said. "Yes, alright."

"You asked if I am still in love with Malfoy," Hermione said slowly. "The problem with that question is I'm not sure if I was ever in love with Malfoy. I guess I feel much the same as I always did about Malfoy."

"How do you feel about Ron?" Harry asked softly.

"Much the same as I always did," Hermione told him.

"That's not good for Ron, is it?" Harry said.

"I don't know. I just don't know." Hermione stared at her fingers. There was chocolate on them. "With Malfoy it was passionate. I lo- liked him as much as I hated him. It could just as quickly swing back the other way again. It did, for a while. But now I'm worried for him again, and that's bringing everything else back. Everything with Malfoy, Harry, was based on my concern for him. I don't blame him for getting mad. I am Frankenstein, and he was my creation. I'm Pygmalion, I'm Henry Higgins."

"I'm lost," Harry said honestly.

Hermione smiled at him sadly. "Ron was right: I was in love with his redemption. I forced him to turn into someone he wasn't, and fell in love with that someone. There was only so long it could last anyway," she said with a sigh and a shrug. "He's an arrogant, prejudiced bastard, underneath everything. I hated him for years." She considered for a moment. "I was in love with Draco, and maybe I still am, but that's not who he is. He's Malfoy, just like he's always been, and no matter how vulnerable he is. I keep trying to fool myself that I can change him, but that's about me, not him."

"You're a good person," Harry told her. "You don't need to prove that to everyone. Anyone who's met you knows you're great."

"I needed to prove it to me," Hermione told him.

Harry reached out and slipped his hand into hers. She squeezed it tightly. With her other hand she picked up a piece of chocolate and slipped it into Harry's mouth, falstalling his next question.

"It was just the one question," she reminded him. "That was the deal."

"You said friends don't bargain," Harry told her, almost choking on the chocolate.

"I care about Ron," Hermione said, correctly guessing the question. "I care deeply about him. It's not the same passion I had with Malfoy, and that's a good thing. I'll come to love him just as powerfully one day, I know I will, and it will be purer and more powerful because it's the real Ron I care about, not some fantasy of mine."

"He's still just a friend, isn't he?" Harry asked, closing his eyes, already feeling his friend's pain.

"I _can_ love him, Harry. I _will_. It's just been... fast. Sudden. I already love him, I have for years."

"As a friend, Hermione. It's not the same."

"I can make it the same!" Hermione insisted. "I wouldn't be doing this if I thought otherwise, and you know it. I'd never hurt Ron like that. Just because, right now, my feelings for a fictional Malfoy are still clouding the issue, doesn't mean they will forever. On Valentine's Day, do you know how hard that decision was for me? So hard I made the wrong one, Harry.

"Look, Harry, I admit, I shouldn't have jumped straight into a relationship with Ron. Not while I still have strong feelings for Malfoy. They were strong feelings of hatred, though, and _you_ pushed me. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and you know what? It seemed like a good idea several months ago, at Valentine's. It will _be_ a good idea again soon. It's just a matter of time. I should have waited, yes. But I didn't, and you have to trust me to handle this. Ron and I... it's going to be forever, Harry. I can picture us married, with kids. I couldn't do that with Malfoy. It's slow burning, that's all. It's going to take time to get going, but it's never going to stop. The brightest flame burns briefest. Malfoy and I were a match; Ron and I are a candle. You see?"

Harry felt a little dazed. It was like an emotional hailstone, chipping away each layer of rationality until there was only the thinnest layer of sanity between him and chaos.

"Harry?" Hermione waved a hand in front of his face.

"I'm not that bad," Harry said, pushing it away. "It's just... that was a lot. I think I understand though. At least, I hope I do, and I hope you're right. I would love to see you and Ron work out. I can picture you married, with kids, too." He grinned. "I'll be Uncle Harry. I'll spoil them rotten and you'll always be mad but the kids will adore me."

This didn't have quite the affect Harry was hoping for. Instead of joining in with the make believe Hermione turned away, expression thoughtful and a little upset. It occurred to Harry that perhaps Hermione had been lying when she'd talked about her future. This upset him badly, but he kept his mouth shut.

"Yes," Hermione said eventually. "We'll all be one happy family."

Something clicked in Harry.

"This is about Malfoy again, isn't it?" he said, not bothering to keep the bite out of his voice. Malfoy wasn't the only person in the world to be abandoned by his parents.

"Your parents are dead, Harry," Hermione said, knowing him well enough to guess his train of thought. "They're dead, but there is no doubt in anyone's mind that they loved you deeply. Malfoy's parents are alive. There's no doubt that they don't love him."

Harry bit his lip. "That doesn't make Malfoy worthy of you love, though," he said. "Maybe you can say he needs it more, but he's done nothing to deserve it. Look," he said, holding up a hand quickly as Hermione opened her mouth, "I'm not saying he drove his parents to leave him, or anything. They're gits of their own accord. They've brought Malfoy up to be a git too, and, alright, that's not his fault either. But it's not as though he's never met anyone else, Hermione. He's had plenty of opportunities to change himself, to recognise that he was in the wrong. He's a git," Harry concluded with a shrug.

"Yes," Hermione smiled, "I suppose he is."

"And Ron isn't," Harry said, spreading his hands. "He's probably worrying about you now." He climbed to his feet and put a hand out to help Hermione up. "You're not revising."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh no! Transfiguration." She scrambled to her feet and shoved the book she'd had in her lap back onto a shelf. The chocolate was already finished. "I haven't done nearly enough revision," she said. "I've barely looked at Humphrey's theory of mammal to reptile, or Mattias on furnishings, _or_ Sariah's views on pattern development!"

"Should I have heard of those people?" Harry whispered in her ear as they made their way out of the library.

"What? Oh, no," Hermione said, waving the question away. "Don't worry about it."

Harry knew better than to ask why she was, then.


	35. Chapter the ThirtyFourth

**Chapter the Thirty-Fourth**

Slowly, eventually, finally the exams were over, and the memory of pain began to fade. Stress had left its marks, with disturbed sleeping patterns among the students who pulled all-nighters, weight gain for the comfort eaters and weight loss for those too nauseus to eat, spots and eczema and nails bitten down to the quick, but as the summer term progressed even these signs passed, only to flare up again as the results approached. The house elves had already laid in extra stocks of tea and biscuits, knowing nervous students loved to snack, but they were in danger of running out.

When McGonagall questioned Harry about the fight, he'd blamed it on stress. And it was true, in a way, but it wasn't the exams that had him on edge. He was sick of watching Hermione and Ron struggle to close the distance between them, sick of watching Hermione waste her concern on Malfoy, and especially sick of Malfoy, just in general. It had been lunch and Hermione had caught Malfoy as he walked past the Gryffindor tables to ask him about Arithmancy. Ron had hurried to sit down, trying to ignore the interaction, but Harry had watched Malfoy shake off Hermione too roughly so she fell, slamming into the table before collapsing to the floor. And, since he'd been only a few feet away at the time, Harry had punched Malfoy.

Fortunately, Malfoy had hit back, and even more so it had been Professor Kelp who'd been first on the scene to break them up. Both McGonagall and Snape had had words with their respective pupils, of course, but it had been left in the most junior member of staff's hands to decide on a suitable punishment. Both young men had heard from Hermione how unused to punishments 'Aurora' was, and both were relieved it was her.

As a result, on Monday evening, Harry found himself dusting shelves while Malfoy rearranged books in the muggle section of the library. Harry suspected this might have been Hermione's idea. Professor Kelp had found herself a chair and set it up so she could watch, but currently, and for the past half an hour, she had been engrossed in a Muggle book titled "Titania's Guide to Love Spells". Harry doubted there was a single working spell in it.

Malfoy handed a book to Harry to dust, not even looking up. Harry checked the subject and author, and stuck it in the middle of a pile. He couldn't remember the Dewey decimal system, but he figured any kind of system would be better than what they had. Malfoy was doing the same, through some unspoken understanding.

A voice brought Harry's head up. It wasn't Malfoy or Kelp. It didn't sound like any student, as far as Harry could tell. Far too sibilant.

"Do you hear that?" he whispered, forgetting the others would have no idea what he was on about. Kelp didn't look up, while Malfoy merely glanced round at him with one mocking raised eyebrow. "A snake," Harry said.

Malfoy's eyebrow dropped and an expression of doubt and curiosity overcame his face.

"A snake?" he asked, also keeping his voice low.

"In the walls, I think," Harry said. He put a hand to his forehead. "My scar doesn't hurt. It's not Voldemort, but he does have snake servants."

"So do several students here," Malfoy informed him. "They're especially popular among Slytherins."

Despite the fact this was against school rules Harry wasn't completely surprised. However, the lack of sarcasm and suspicion coming from his enemy did leave him confused.

"Is it saying anything in particular?" Malfoy asked.

"Just 'I'm Here'," Harry murmured, listening hard. "And 'Not yet'."

"Maybe it's hunting and talking to itself," Malfoy said, shrugging.

Harry gave him a sideways look. "Ye-ah," he said. "Because that's what snakes are famous for." He stared down at the carpet, which was thick with the dust they'd removed from the books. "I'm going to tell Dumbledore."

"Tell him what? There's a snake? That means _nothing_," Malfoy said derisively. "This country has plenty of native snakes, for a start, which will all be coming out of hibernation at this time of year. Add to that the pet snakes, the fact Voldemort is supposed to be on the other side of the Atlantic and _no one else can hear it_, I'd say you're tilting at windmills because you haven't filled your pointless hero quotient of the year."

"And what if it is Voldemort's snake?" Harry asked, eyeing Malfoy suspiciously. "Do you _want_ us to miss what might be our only warning of an attack?"

"I hope you're not implying what I think you are," Malfoy said coldly.

Harry laughed. "Of course I am," he said. "Why else would you been so keen for me to drop this? You're not nearly as smart as you like to think you are, Malfoy. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

Malfoy dropped 'Crime and Punishment' on Harry's hand, making him squeak.

"Oops," he said. "It slipped."

"How are you boys getting along?" Professor Kelp called out, glancing over the top of her book. "I don't mind you chatting, but neither of you is going anywhere until you're finished here. And that includes dinner."

"I need to see Dumbledore," Harry said desperately, massaging his bruised fingers.

"Why?" Kelp asked. Harry saw an opportunity and leapt for it.

"I think one of Voldemort's servants is here!" he said. "I need to warn Dumbledore in case of an attack!"

"Where is this servant?" Professor Kelp said, standing up slowly.

"In the walls," Malfoy answered before Harry could reply. "It's a snake. Potter has this hero complex relating to Voldemort, and, according to him, Voldemort has a snake, not that any of the rest of us have ever seen it."

'Aurora' turned her attention to him. "You believe he is projecting his fears onto other people and animals as part of this complex?" she asked. "A kind of paranoid obsession."

Harry bit his lip to keep from swearing at her. She was the one with an obsession, an obsession for psychiatry and superstitions. Draped in necklaces and bracelets all covered with occult symbols that meant no more to a real wizard than they did to a muggle. Even when they'd barely been talking, he and Hermione had complained to each other about the approach she took to Defence Against the Dark Arts. Harry had understood Voldemort from the moment they met: Voldemort wanted power. It didn't take eight months of psychology lessons to work that out.

"It is _not_," Harry hissed. "There is a _snake_ back _there_ and _that_ _snake_ is _talking_," he said, stabbing one finger towards the wall.

"Do all snakes talk?" Professor Kelp asked. "I admit, I don't know much about this field."

"Yes," Harry said, groaning in frustration. "Yes, they do. Or at least all the ones I've met have."

"What about?" Professor Kelp looked genuinely interested.

"Getting out of captivity. Hunting. The temperature," Harry shrugged awkwardly.

"And what is this one saying?"

"It's gone now," Harry said with an angry sigh. "It _was_ talking about how it was here, and 'not yet' and something about the screaming moon."

"You didn't mention that before!" Malfoy said, surprising the others by rejoining the conversation after such a long silence. "What about a screaming moon?"

"It mentioned screams, or shouts, or something," Harry told him. "Snakes don't have so many synonyms, so I can't translated completely accurately. And it said 'most moon'. 'Most screaming moon', I think."

"_That_ certainly doesn't sound like something a snake might say in passing," Professor Kelp commented. "I agree, Dumbledore should know." Harry felt relief flood him, and he began to stand up. Kelp waved him down again. "There's a staff conference going on right now, among the senior professors. We don't want to interrupt."

"Yes we do!" Harry said, leaping to his feet.

"No," Professor Kelp said firmly. "You have to complete your detention first. Maybe they're having a meeting because they already know. You wouldn't want to disturb them with obsolete information, would you? You two will finish doing these books, then I will _personally_ accompany you to the headmaster's office."

"I don't need you to accompany me," Harry told her.

Professor Kelp stood up, putting her book on her chair.

"Harry Potter, you will not disturb the staff meeting, do you understand?" she said. "You do not have that right. _I_ do not have that right."

"This is more important," Harry insisted. "I can get into Dumbledore's office. He'd _want_ to know."

"They're not in the office," Malfoy said quietly. He was still kneeling on the floor among the books. "I saw Sn- Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall heading into the Forbidden Forest on my way here."

"They must want to consult the centaurs," Harry said. "But, but there's one here."

"Professor Firenze is at the meeting as well," Professor Kelp informed them. "Will you sit down now, Potter? Patience _is_ a virtue."

Harry harrumphed to himself, and went back to the books. Malfoy handed him a tome from near Professor Kelp, and as Harry ran his eyes over the title he recognised it as the book Hermione had been reading a few weeks ago. He stared at it, lost in thought, until Malfoy poked him in the ribs. Harry raised baleful eyes to meet Malfoy's.

"That was uncalled for," he hissed.

"You were woolgathering," Malfoy said dismissively. "And I, for one, would like this detention to end some time this century."

"I was just thinking of Hermione," Harry said, not really setting out to hurt Malfoy, but not sorry when he did. He waved the book at him. "She was reading this the other day."

"That's nice," Malfoy said, obviously struggling to keep his voice bland.

Harry glanced at the book again. "She's worried about you," he said, "but don't take it too personally. Like you said, you're just a charity case to her. She's glad that you've finally shown her that."

"She knew all along," Malfoy muttered bitterly.

Harry snorted. "She's a good person, Malfoy, far too good for you. She told me she never expected it to last between the two of you. You can take it to your grave that you had a chance with a beautiful, kind, intelligent girl, and you failed. You screwed up you one chance to better yourself."

"If you think I am so utterly dependent on others to shape myself-" Malfoy began to ground out.

"I'd be right," Harry responded tartly.

"We all are," Professor Kelp said, still apparently engrossed in her book. "You've stopped working again, boys."

Harry shoved the roughly onto the shelves, angry that Kelp was trying to fight his battles for him. Why couldn't she just sod off?

They worked in silence for almost half an hour. Gradually, Harry's movements became less jerky and harsh. He started sliding books back onto shelves Malfoy had dusted, satisfied that they were organised into some semblance of sense.

He felt something plucking at his cloak, and glanced over his shoulder. Malfoy stood there, holding out a book from a pile he had balanced on one arm, shoulders drooping and hair in his eyes. There was a slight frown in the centre of his forehead, and he'd bitten his bottom lip to ragged shreds.

"Why didn't she expect it to last?" Malfoy whispered.

Harry took the book from him as he tried to think of a way to answer. He didn't want to betray Hermione's confidences, and he didn't want to encourage Malfoy into making another pass at her. He pushed the book among its fellows and turned back, shrugging.

"It wasn't the sort of thing that was meant to last, she said," he told Malfoy. "She had a whole flame analogy."

"That which burns brightest burns briefest?" Malfoy asked.

"Yeah, that." Harry was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. There was an intensity in Malfoy's gaze that suggested far too much rested on the answer to his question. Harry wondered what Malfoy would do if he got the wrong answer. Maybe Hermione was rubbing off on him, because as much as he wanted to see Malfoy suffer as he had made them suffer over the years, he didn't actually want the guy to commit suicide or anything.

Malfoy's mouth quirked into a smirk.

"Don't look so dire, Potter," he said softly. "I'm not going to do anything drastic just because of that bint. Though I'm touched you're so concerned for my wellbeing."

Harry let the insult to Hermione slide as he heard the sincerity in Draco's last sentence. Malfoy really was touched.

"You've missed out, Malfoy," he said. "Yeah, she loved you, probably fairly passionately, but she's moving on now. She told me she could picture herself marrying on. She said she'd never been able to do that with you." He shrugged again, guilt creating an itch between his shoulders. "Look, you didn't just screw up, okay? It wasn't going to last anyway. It wasn't meant to be."

"And she knew that all along," Malfoy said.

"Don't you dare insinuate she was just stringing you along," Harry snapped. "She loved you, Malfoy. She still does. You don't fucking deserve it, if you ask me, but she does and that's all there is to it. You hurt her badly, you bastard, after everything she did for you, and you took her love for fucking granted."

"Language, Potter, language," Malfoy chided, but distantly. His eyes were slightly unfocused and he wasn't even pretending to look at Harry. Harry watched his adam's apple bob as he swallowed, hard, and saw the frown deepen. His stomach dropped abruptly as he realised that whatever decision Draco had been waiting for the answer to make was now made, and whatever happened next would be a direct result of this conversation.

"Are you done, boys?" Professor Kelp asked, breaking the deadlock.

Harry glanced down at the book in his hands, shoving it quickly into the first available space he saw. When Draco still didn't move, he rapidly filed away the books the other boy was holding, no longer caring for the system they had spent the last few hours creating.

"Yep!" he said breathlessly. "Can we find Dumbledore now?"


	36. Chapter the ThirtyFifth

**Chapter the Thirty-Fifth**

Malfoy sat by the Shrieking Shack, ostensibly watching out for his father. He kept being distracted, though, by a small group of trees at the bottom of the path towards Hogsmeade. Harry Potter's head had come for a visit without his body. He remembered being scared at the time, and then furious. He couldn't recall when he'd worked out the truth about the invisibility cloak, but he couldn't let the knowledge that he hadn't worked it out at the time go.

It made a good ghost story: the head of a boy who wasn't dead yet. Like the howls in the night, when nobody noticed what time of month it was, every month. It was all very, very obvious, when you thought about it. It made him glad it was, for the most part, after his father's time at Hogwarts. At least his father hadn't appeared stupid. And Snape had worked it out, so that was alright.

Draco sighed at the trees, and a gust of wind ruffled their leaves. A faint smile crossed his lips, but faded soon. He wouldn't be going home. He might as well give the mansion up as a loss. Sell it. Harry Potter could afford it, he bet. Harry Potter could buy it and give it to all of the millions of Weasleys, and Hermione, and they could live there together as one huge family. And the little Granger-Weasleys could run around, and discover the pathetic fallacy on the North Tower for themselves. It was a bit patchy - the spell was so old no one was sure what it was, now - but there was something so beautifully thrilling about uttering a threat of doom or domination and having the thunder crash behind you. Something comforting about climbing the stairs and leaning on the parapet, rain falling around you, when you wanted to feel sorry for yourself. Something to suit every dramatic mood he had ever had. When it worked, of course.

All those little Granger-Weasleys. Weasley himself working ever so hard to support them all, and Hermione having to give up her career to look after them all. It wouldn't be fair. Hermione could provide for them far better than Weasley. But she wouldn't be able to, because of all the pregnancies, and no one wanted to employ a Weasley woman, what with all the pregnancies.

She'd probably die in childbirth. She wasn't built to be a Weasley woman.

Draco tried to pretend he hadn't felt that clench of fear. He was being absurd anyway, deliberately absurd. She'd die long before she got a chance to marry Weasley. It didn't matter what anyone did, Voldemort was coming. Both a mudblood and close to Harry Potter? She was lucky to have survived this long.

Something stung at the back of his eyes, but there were no tears. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a piece of folded parchment and a pen. He started "Dear Hermione".

An hour later, the paper was filled with favourite spells, odd little pictures, some half remembered poetry and a few examples of "Hermione Malfoy", which looked far too good to Draco's eyes. There was no point writing a letter, since he had no intention of sending it to her, so he might as well entertain himself. Hermione Granger-Malfoy. Not so good, but bearable.

He heard a susurrus in the grass nearby, and incendio'd the page. As his father transformed before him, he was scowling disapprovingly.

"The flash of light could have drawn attention to our position."

"Sorry, father."

The word felt strange in his mouth. Father, noun, vocative. Not that it made much difference in English. Pater. Nominative or Vocative singular, third declension. Draco found he preferred Pater, actually, though he supposed it was a little late to change the form of address now.

He climbed to his feet and hefted the rucksack onto his shoulders. It felt ridiculous on his shoulders now, but he hadn't had the energy to repack, once he'd realised his father was actually coming in person.

"I have arranged transport," Draco said, hoping it did not sound too presumptuous. "I recalled how the Beauxbaton students made their way onto Hogwarts property, and have organised a boat."

"Where will we emerge?" his father asked, as Draco led him into the Shack, towards the secret passage Snape had told him about, several years ago.

"I left the spell open," Draco said. "I did not know where you wish to go. Father."

"Have you no guesses?"

Pater sounded... pleased. Almost amused. A lump began to form in Draco's throat. He remembered this voice, from a very long time ago. If he did something right, or rather, something outstanding, his father would show his pleasure by playing a brief game with him. Nothing physical.

Wire cage monkey, part of Draco's mind whispered, and he hated Kelp viciously for a moment. Stupid unhugged monkeys.

"Norway?" Draco chose.

"No, but it would not be a poor choice. Again." Pater was smiling slightly. Draco wanted to take that smile, to hold on to it, to keep it forever. His pater - no, his father, stop being an idiot - thought he was doing something right. He was being rewarded the only way his father knew how, with a test.

"Iceland?"

"Again, no. I preferred Norway."

"Am I on the right compass bearing?" Draco asked.

His father did not answer. They reached the Whomping Willow, and Draco used his wand to let them out. They started to walk down towards the lake.

"Poland?"

"Always an interesting choice, Poland. The muggles have done terrible things to it, but Voldemort thought we might prove our superiority by not using them."

And so the game went on.

* * *

"What's going on? Why is everybody running about?" Ron asked, hair wild from bed.

"I heard a snake," Harry said. "Remember, I told you?"

"Of course I remember, you prat." Ron snorted. "It was only a week ago."

"Most moon," said Hermione. "It's the full moon tonight, Ron, you twit." She was trying to tug a hairbrush through her hair, but only succeeded in getting it stuck. After a few yanks, she abandoned it entirely. It banged against her neck.

She wasn't thinking straight. She wasn't entirely sure she was thinking. Harry had seen something from the boy's dormitory window, people but no one was sure what was going on. And then Dean had seen the teachers heading down there, and suddenly all of Gryffindor was in an uproar. And it was full moon.

Something occurred to her, and she started to move towards the portrait hole.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked, grabbing her elbow.

She turned back towards him. "To Syltherin," she said, "to see if Malfoy's actually gone."

"Of course he has," Ron told her. "It's..." He sighed, air hissing between his teeth. He looked towards Ginny, who frowned. Hermione wondered what was going on. Harry looked baffled too.

"Look, let's all go... somewhere," Ron said. "I'm going to get in so much trouble for this."

They tried the boy's dormitory, but Dean, Seamus, and a couple of younger boys were still using it as their look out. The girls dorms were out of the question.

"Prefect's bathroom?" Hermione suggested. "I mean, at least two of us can justify being there." And then she realised what she had just said, and blushed furiously. Ginny giggled loudly, and Harry looked faintly amused. Ron didn't, at all. "Oh, come on," she snapped.

The bathroom was quiet. Hermione hung her dressing gown over the mermaid's painting, and Harry had a quick scout for Myrtle.

"She watches us?" Ron asked, staring at the draped painting.

"Yep," said Hermione. She found it hard to meet his eyes.

They sat in the bath tub, designed for it, though it was dry now. Hermione cast silencio, and they settled back to hear Ron talk.

"Look, before I say anything, Ginny knows because she's my sister. Because she's dad's daughter, alright? Dad didn't want it getting out of the family, and I know you two are practically family, maybe not even practically, but I told Ginny first and then I didn't get a chance to tell you, and then it stopped seeming so important. I'd actually forgotten when Harry told us about the snake." He slumped back with a sigh, and humphed ginger hair out of his eyes. "So here goes: Malfoy, the elder, is an animagus. A snake. That's how he escaped from Azkaban."

"I heard Lucius Malfoy himself," Harry said. "I heard... oh shit. Malfoy was there. I thought he seemed too interested, and too ready to dismiss it, but I never really thought..."

"He's come for his son."

Hermione barely heard the words coming from her own mouth. This was it. She'd thought it was, but somehow... He wasn't just running away. Draco was leaving with his father. He was lost. She'd done her best, it wasn't good enough, and...

They were all staring at her.

"I tried," she said, in a strained voice.

"We know, "Harry said. "We just... Well, maybe _I_ just thought..."

"No," Ron said. "Look, why aren't you going after him?"

It was a strange and painful question. Hermione curled in on herself, wrapping her arms around her body.

"Why should I?" she asked in an almost-whisper. "What's the point?"

There was an odd silence. Ron shuffled around the edge of the bath until he was sitting next to her, and put an arm across her shoulders. It felt right. It felt perfect. It was calming and comforting and strong.

Draco would have kissed her. In front of everybody, and despite the fact she probably wouldn't have wanted to be kissed. And then he'd have...

Draco had left with his father. If he was here to kiss her, she wouldn't have needed kissing.

Except she needed kissing, ever so much. And she needed Ron to initiate it. She turned her head to look at him. He smiled awkwardly, crookedly. He looked a little embarrassed.

Hermione sighed, and went back to staring at the plug hole.

* * *

"This is London," Lucius Malfoy observed. The anger in his voice wasn't all-consuming; he merely thought Draco was an idiot.

Well, it had been nice, and it had almost been tempting.

"Lucius Malfoy, you are under arrest. Again." And that voice carried a faint smile with it, and memories of four legs and a better sense of smell, and a beautiful pelt.

And then there was a sharp pain, starting just under his chin, and he tumbled backwards, into the cold, dark water.

That was the all-consuming anger of the betrayed, that was his father losing it so badly he had actually hit him, rather than hexed.

He didn't bother try to swim.


End file.
